


At the end of days

by Garrett_Jacob_Hobbnobs



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 72
Words: 154,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garrett_Jacob_Hobbnobs/pseuds/Garrett_Jacob_Hobbnobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the MacManus brothers were being held in the prison the Atlanta group find? All characters from TWD S3 onwards are included at one point or another but aren't listed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jail birds

The world had gone to Hell. That much was obvious. Once they had recovered from their injuries, for their own safety they were transferred to another maximum security jail in Georgia. Soon after though, that's when everything went to shit. The virus, whatever it was, got in somehow; the prisoners and guards alike were either killed by infected, or murdered each other in the panic and the riots. It was literally kill or be killed, and it was only out of a need to find each other and stay alive for them that they had to take more lives.

At first, the brothers had feared the worse for one another – they'd been separated into different cell blocks, which made finding each other difficult when everything was falling apart. Murphy had considered staying put, giving Connor the chance to find him easily – but then again, he never had been the patient one. Eventually they were reunited, reassurances of the others wellbeing left until they were back in a cell, safe for the time being. Having stolen a set of keys from a guard as well as his weapons, the boys were soon locking themselves behind bars.

Though it wasn't just sickness that plagued this arc in their lives. They watched as inmates shoot each other, or as guards went for their charges throats as though they hadn't eaten for weeks. It wasn't long before they were forced to defend themselves against other prisoners, living or otherwise, using guns lifted from the bodies of dead guards. It soon became normal for the brothers to huddle out of sight just behind the beds as infected inmates pressed waxy, bleeding faces to the iron bars. Once they'd moved on, both men let themselves breathe a little easier. Staying put was a tenuous option at best, but it soon became that much more strained when hunger started to really set in. Perhaps in other circumstances, one would insist on doing a food run while the other stayed safe. But that wasn't how the twins worked, and that wasn't how the world could afford to work anymore. They barely got back to their cell block in one piece, but the small amount of supplies they'd swiped meant it had been worth it, this time.

They were quiet for a while, before Murphy finally spoke up. "How long d'ya think we'll last?"

"So long as we're careful, we're gonna be fine." Came Connors simple reply. It wasn't what Murphy wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.

"Should try gettin' out, you know…Try our luck on the road"

"Aye. Let's do that – I've always wanted to get me throat ripped out by a pissed off zombie. Sounds like a fuckin' holiday."

"Fuck you. I mean it. All we're gonna do in here is slowly rot away, an' then what? Come back a few hours later lookin' like the fuckin' 'Evil Dead'?"

"D'ya hear yourself, Murph'? In here, we've got food, we've got shelter. This is a good deal we've got here."

"Oh aye – until food runs out, or other surviving inmates find their way to this block, or one of us gets sick-"

"Tha's not gonna happen. Jus' shut up and eat. I'll think of somethin', a'right? But we're not leavin' here unless we've got no other choice, an' I mean it –  _no choice._ You hear me?" The twins matched each other's glares, but Murphy soon backed down for the time being. They both made valid arguments, but Murphy knew he wasn't prepared to risk their lives any more than they were already. They talked about it more, but each time they ended up butting horns – after a while even Connor was considering the option of leaving the jail and not looking back; but the security it offered as well as the generous food supply meant he stayed his ground on the issue. Murphy was freaked out, wanted to up and run, but they both knew one would never leave without the other.

It wasn't until a few days later when something drew them out of sleep. Sounds from outside – quiet, but unmistakable, and definitely not being made by zombies. Sharing a glance they were soon out of their beds and approaching the nearest window that looked out to the courtyard. It didn't show the entire area, and as Murphy pushed in front of his twin to see which inmates were trying to leave, at first he was disappointed.

"Nothin' there – you see anythin'?"

"Move your fuckin' arse and maybe I'll tell you."

"Fuck you – there. There, I see 'em"

"Who is it? Can you tell?"

"Gimme a fuckin' minute -They're not prisoners"

"What?"

"Look – y'see?" Pressing his fingertip to the glass, Connor scanned the yard – all he could see at first were infected, but then he saw what his brother was talking about. A trio of people – two men and a woman by the looks of it – were hacking their way through the less fortunate inmates. As the minutes ticked by, more survivors weren't followed. A kid, an old guy, a few men, some more women – all armed, as far as they could tell, and doing a good job of looking after themselves. Moving away from the window, the boys just thought for a moment, Murphy wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

"You reckon they'll get in?"

"Not sure – they're handlin' themselves right now, but you saw how packed the lower floors were."

"Should we help 'em?" That was the question neither of them wanted to ask or answer. Normally, they would have without hesitation – but this wasn't a normal situation. They had one hand gun each, the rounds provided were their only remaining ammunition. And by the looks of it, this new group were far better off weapons wise.

"Did you see guns..?"

"Couldn't tell."

"A'right…we'll stay here, for now-"

"And if they get here? Then what? We welcome them with open arms?"

"…We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."


	2. The Confrontation

For a while, neither of the twins were disturbed. There were distant sounds of combat, but for quite some time, both were in the dark as to who these strangers were, and whether or not they’d give them any trouble. They were clearly outnumbered, outgunned; all they could do was hope that they wouldn’t be thrown out on their asses.   
  
Sitting in one of the cells on the upper floor, Connor watched as his brother checked the number of rounds in his weapon for the hundredth time, feet tapping out an uneven, nervous rhythm. Normally, he’d ask what was on his mind, but he knew what the answer would be. They were thinking the exact same thoughts; how much longer did they have? If these strangers were dangerous, which was a possibility even with a child in tow, then the boys didn’t stand much of a chance if things went south. Stretching his leg over from his spot on the floor, Connor nudged Murphy’s foot with his, urging him to cease the foot tapping.   
  
“C’mon, Murph…give it a rest” In response, he got a firmer kick back, and a more obnoxious tune than before.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Aye…” Then there was quiet, until Murphy spoke up a minute or so later, having ceased the tapping finally.

“…Conn’?”

“Aye?”

“If this goes to shit-”   
  
“Murph’…”

“If this goes to shit…just, I want you to know...” Looking up from where his nails had been being picked to shreds, Connor just waited patiently for his brother to finish. It wasn’t often they actually voiced anything sentimental, so when moments like this came around, they both found it best not to joke.  
  
“...S’been good, you know? With you and me…I don’t regret it, any of it.”  
  
“That’s all you’ve got for me..?” Connor replied with a small smile. Pushing himself to his feet, he went and took his natural place at his twin’s side. He nudged him with his shoulder, gently but playfully.

“Aye, I know you don’t. Me neither. Not a moment. But this isn’t gonna go to shit, a’right? We’re gonna be fuckin’ fine. Whoever these people are, they got women, kids…chances are, they’re just desperate for someplace safe to stay. We keep outta their hair, they do the same for us. Easy.”

“You don’t know any of that, you’re bullshittin’”  
  
“No I’m fuckin’ not – listen, it makes sense doesn’t it?”

“Aye- but even if it was that fuckin’ simple, they’re not just gonna take our word for it are they? We’re the ones in fuckin’ jumpsuits. They got kids – that means they’re gonna be on their fuckin’ guard. There’s no way they’ll let us wander round the prison – we could be fuckin’ kiddie fiddlers for all they know…mass murderers….” Glancing at each other, they shared a very brief smirk, the one preserved for inside jokes at inappropriate times. Though both faces fell when the sound of a door clanging open reverberated through the air. Despite the fact he hadn’t let it go for the past 24 hours, Murphy’s hand immediately went to his gun – Connor doing the same for his. The group were in the rec area on the other side of the barred door, but by the jangling of keys, it wouldn’t be long before they were in the cell blocks.

“The fuck are we doin’ here?” Murphy hissed, voice barely audible, but loud enough for Connor to react. He grabbed the back of Murphy’s shirt, practically dragging him to his feet as the group let themselves in. He kept his arm outstretched, as though to keep Murphy behind him, the other holding his gun at half height. He knew they’d be discovered; it was better to show the strangers they were armed, but not hostile. After that, it’d go one of two ways.

“Just fuckin’ keep quiet, let me do the talkin’” he muttered over his shoulder.

“Fine. Jus’ don’t get us killed”

“Shut the fuck up…” As the group slowly began to explore, the twins could hear someone making their way up to their landing, obviously with the intent of checking for walkers. A shadow crept its way into their view, which was closer followed by the tip of a crossbow bolt. The reaction was instantaneous; the crossbow’s owner, a man with lank, scruffy hair and a worn out shirt, raised his weapon at the two prisoners. Murphy pulled his gun, though Connor’s reassuring hand on his arm stopped him from doing anything stupid. In a placating gesture, he took his finger off of the trigger, and put his hand up, though the other remained clamped on Murphy.

“Don’t shoot.” The first outsider ignored his request, nearly speaking over him as he called someone named ‘Rick’ up to join him. Even as he addressed his friend, his eyes never left the brothers.

“We got company…”   
  
Rick looked as worn down as the boots on his feet. He couldn’t have been older than forty three, give or take a few years, but the stress and the grime from the road and, evidently from surviving in the outside, had piled on the months. Armed himself, he seemed to take Connor’s body language into account in a glance, but his expression didn’t change, and when he spoke, his tone was no-nonsense, tired, and gruff.  
  
“Lower your weapons”

“I will – once you tell him to get that thing outta my brother’s face” The crossbow stayed up, but Connor still turned toward Murphy, giving him a ‘not now’ look as he slowly pushed his gun down, till it was pointed at the floor. As he looked back, he watched Rick, expecting him to do the same. He didn’t.

“You’re both alone in here?” Murphy glanced at his sibling, though Connor kept his eyes alternating between the crossbow and Rick as he nodded.

“..Aye. S’just us.”

“Walkers?”

“None, in this block at least. Finished them off.”

“A whole block by yourselves?” Added Crossbow, his scepticism masked almost entirely by his accent.

“You callin’ us fuckin’ liars?” Connor shot Murphy a glare, but he knew he couldn’t stay quiet for long, especially in a confrontation.

“I think you’re full of shit, is what I’m sayin’”

“Fuck you-” When Crossbow took a sudden step closer, Connor instinctively stepped into its line of fire, firmly urging Murphy to back up as he attempted to salvage the situation before it went to Hell.  
  
“Look, we don’t want trouble here, a’right? We know you got a group with you, we know you’ve got a kid. We’ll move to another block, you won’t ever see us.” Glancing at the windows, Rick finally turned back, rubbing a hand over his eyes and down his face as he looked at Connor fully, mentally weighing what to do...how much of a threat they were...were they worth the bullets it’d take to put them down. Eventually, he spoke again, eyes hard and voice severe.

“You’re not staying here.”

“Aye, we know – just, let us out, and we’ll make our own way to another block. Look, you’re hungry, right? Your group is? If you wanted we can show you where the kitchen is, the infirmary too-”

“You can tell us where to find it, we’ll make our own way there.” Rick interrupted. “You can leave the block, but you’re going to have to relocate to the other side of the prison. You’re not staying near here.”

 


	3. The Jury's Verdict

For a moment, no one said anything, although Murphy wanted to. But he knew Connor was the better negotiator when the time called for it, and this was definitely one of those times. He tried again, keeping his tone neutral and placating. They didn’t know what sort of men these two were, and they knew even less about the twins.

“Look, we want to compromise – you help us clear out a cell block, you can have some of the food supplies.”

“How much is there?” This time, Connor hesitated slightly before answering, not looking away from Rick for even a second.

“There’s…enough. If you’d be willing to spare some manpower, help us clear out another block, we’ll let you have some” Both of the brothers could practically feel the tension in the room rise; these strangers wanted them gone, one way or another, but probably weren’t prepared to just kill them off when their backs were turned. Unless they felt provoked, of course, but even then, the twins would only attack when they were provoked themselves.

Rick and Crossbow shared a look, weighing the prisoners options – and by how quickly Rick gave his answer, the scales were already rigged out of their favour.

“That’s not going to happen; you managed one block, you can do it again-” This time Connor went to interrupt, but was cut off by Rick’s hand coming up, telling him that he wasn’t finished.

“…You can do it again, or take your chances out on the road. It’s your choice.”

“Hey, we were here first-”

“Murph’ shut the fuck up – Listen – it’s Rick, right? – We cleared this place out because we had no choice. It wasn’t easy, we had more than a few close calls. Me an’ my brother, we don’t want trouble, we’re not a couple of fuckin’…psychopaths. We’re just tryin’ t’stay alive, and all we’re askin’ for a little leeway to do that. You seem like a good man…I know I’m right.” Connor appeared to have struck a chord in the older man, if only a small one, because an odd look came over him. Like it’d been too long since he’d been told he was still who he’d been before.

“I can understand you don’t want us near you or your group, that’s fine. But you help us now, we’ll owe you. We’ll stay out of your way, you’ll never know we’re here-”

“Come on, man- we’re fucking people. Cut us a bit of fucking slack-”

“Murphy, I swear to fucking Christ-”

“Rick..?” A woman’s voice from the level below seemed to shake Rick out of his thoughts, looking from the man with the crossbow to the voice’s owner.

“Stay down there. Daryl-” lowering his tone, he handed him a set of guard’s keys, “-lock them in, and watch them. They try anything…”

“I hear you.”

“Hey hey wait a minute - Y’can’t just lock us in here!” As the door shut with a bone-shaking clang and the key turned, Murphy’s protests fell on deaf ears. Once again, the crossbow was up, though this time only at waist height. Pushing his gun onto the top bunk with a sigh, Connor shot his brother a look, who responded by cursing at him in Gaelic.

  
Below them, Rick had re-joined his group of confused, exhausted faces. With one hand splayed across her belly protectively, Lori was the first to speak up.

“Who’s up there? We heard voices”

“Two prisoners.” Immediately, anxious glances were either shot up towards the stairs or at one another.

“They’re locked in, Daryl’s watching them right now.”

“Are they armed?” Came another question, this time from Carol.

“Yes, but they’re not hostile. They want to negotiate.”

“Negotiate what? They can’t stay here”

“Not in this block, no. They’re asking for us to help them clear out another block in exchange for some of the food supplies.” The reaction was, again, almost instantaneous. Stepping forward, Glenn was the first to protest.

“We don’t know anything about them – we don’t know how many other prisoners might be still alive in here-”

“Or how dangerous they are.” Interrupted Carol, crossing her arms and shaking her head in doubt. “They’re convicts; plain and simple. And we’ve already lost so much coming this far…”

“I agree” Maggie added, lowering her voice a little, maybe for the prisoner’s sake. “It’s been just us for so long – it’d be weird, having other people around” Holding his hands up, Rick called for everyone to settle again.

“They say they’re alone in this block-”

“And we’re going to take their word for it? Rick, they’re criminals. Even if they are telling the truth, we don’t owe them anything. We can’t put anyone else in this group in any more danger than is totally necessary.” He fixed his wife with a stern look, as though mentally reprimanding her for pointing out something he already knew. She eventually glanced away, allowing someone else to offer their two cents. This time, it was T Dog.

“Alright – I see what you’re saying, I get it. But we put them in with the walkers, or kick them out onto the road, we might as well shoot them ourselves. I mean we’ve probably got more blood on our hands than they do”

“What’s your point?”

“My point, is that none of us are innocent anymore. Alright, they made bad choices to get thrown in here, but they’re still people. You said they’re not hostile, right?” When Rick didn’t answer right away, T Dog prompted him to with a motion of his hand.

“…Yeah, I did. They’ve got guns, both of them, but limited ammunition. They said they’re brothers; one’s got a temper, but the other’s more level headed. They told us, once we help them, they’ll stay out of our way…”

“And you believe them?” Came an additional voice. This time, everyone turned towards Hershel, who had made himself comfortable on one of the bottom bunks in an open cell. His question said one thing, but his tone was asking something else; do you trust your gut enough to give them the benefit of the doubt? Rick seemed to understand this, and after a good minute of tense silence, he gave a slow nod.

“…Yes, I do.”

 


	4. Shake on it

Had it not been for Daryl watching them like a Doberman, the twins would have been pinned to the bars of their cell, eavesdropping on the group’s discussion. They tried listening in on what was being said, but soon their own hissed arguments drowned out any hope of hearing the opinions of the other strangers. Giving Daryl a sweeping glance, Murphy dropped heavily onto the lower bunk, yanking Connor, and his tone, down with him.

“This isn’t good, Connor”

“You’re preachin’ to the fucking choir. Shut up will you? I wanna listen-”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to shut up! This is fucked up, we’re gonna let a group of fucking strangers decide what happens to us – I didn’t sign up for this shit!”

This time, it was Connor who rounded on his brother, snapping at him at little louder than intended.

“And you think I did, Murph’? I don’t fuckin’ like this anymore than you, but it’s better than gettin’ a bullet between the fuckin’ eyes.”

“Oh fuck you – you don’t know that”

“Yeah, actually, I fuckin’ do. Worst case scenario, we get moved to another block, and we do all this again. I don’t give a shit. We’ll still have access to food, I’ll make sure of that. But what you’re not getting’ through your thick fuckin’ skull is that I’m trying to keep us both alive. And havin’ you yappin’ my fuckin’ ear off ain’t helpin’ any”

That shut Murphy up for the time being. He just exhaled in frustration, looking away from his brother to his hands, whose nails were gradually getting shredded. It was a bad habit he’d had since they were small, and a rarity in that it wasn’t a habit they shared. Connor hated it when Murphy bit his nails or picked at them, and would normally swat his hands away from his mouth. But this time he just let him, slowly raking his own nails through his own hair as his head gradually slumped forward. He hoped he was right about Rick. Of course, if the reason the brothers were in here came up, he knew that’d be it for them. But they’d deal with that when it became an issue. Until then, he tried focussing on what was being said below them, which wasn’t as easy as they’d first anticipated. The outsiders were keeping their voices down, most likely to avoid being overheard.

As poorly timed as ever, it was just when Rick began making his way back up to their cell that Murphy nudged his twin, rousing him from his thoughts.

“Hey, Conn’-”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Both brothers turned their heads simultaneously as the group’s leader reappeared in front of the cell bars, his right hand in it’s now natural place at his gun. Both men stood up, now in their own places at each other’s side.

“Two members of my group will go with you, help you take down any walkers, and move any bodies. After that, you’ll-” He gestured at Connor, “-come with us, show us how to get to the infirmary and where to find the food and other supplies.”

Immediately, Connor felt Murphy’s hackles go up, but before he could mouth of he settled the deal.

“That’s fair. And so we’re clear, we’re still entitled to the supplies?”

“You get a third of whatever’s left in there.”

“You’ve got to give us more.”

“You get a third, that’s all. There’s two of you, ten of us. Not negotiable.”

The brothers looked at each other – Murphy’s eyes were filled with suppressed argument. He wanted Connor to put up more of a fight. This was their prison, by right. But Connor knew that, while he could argue with Rick, the likelihood of the argument going in their favour was slim, and he had both their lives to think about. It’d been that way, ever since they could remember. They watched each other’s backs, defended each other. But Connor always felt responsible for Murphy, like it was his fault if he got hurt. And even now, with them both teetering on the edge of forty, nothing had changed. With a nod, the deal was done. However, when Rick next opened his mouth, Murphy couldn’t hold himself back. The older man had stepped a little way away from the bars, and placed his hands loosely on his hips.

“Right. Now you’re going to hand over your weapons.”

“What?”

“Oh fuck that”

“Murph’-”

“No, no – you fuckers come in here, you lock us up, you take away our food, and now you want us to hand over the only things we have against the fuckin’ undead assholes out there? No fuckin’ way.” Rick just narrowed his eyes, almost daring Murphy to continue.

Let it be known he was never one to disappoint.

“Me an’ my brother, we’ve been fuckin’ nice, fuckin’ civil – and all you’ve done is treat us like fuckin’ animals. Alright, so we were in this shithole before you, big fuckin’ deal. We’re all equal now, and I’m willing to bet my fuckin’ ball sack that you’ve taken a good few more lives than we have-”

He didn’t need Connor shooting him an icy glance to quickly, and subtly, rectify his statement.

“Killin’ those things, one after the other…it changes you, makes you fuckin’ paranoid. Like you’re not who you used to be, right? We’ve paid our dues, done our time here. You’re not the law, ‘Rick’, and neither is your fuckin’ bulldog here.” He gestured crudely at Daryl, who was at the bars in a second, crossbow raised, though Rick hurriedly stopped him from doing anything stupid. In turn, Connor tried to calm his brother down, but all that accomplished was Murphy shrugging him away, and stepping closer to the bars until he could wrap his fingers around them.

“We’ve agreed to your bullshit deal. But don’t expect us to roll over and follow your orders.”

“Either you hand over your guns until tomorrow and we unlock this door, or you keep them and you stay in there until Daryl feels like letting you out. It’s up to you, ‘Murph’”

Tugging his brother away from the bars, Connor gave him a knowing look, at which Murphy let his lip curl into a snarl.

Within a few minutes, both guns were emptied and in Rick’s possession, and the twins’ cell was unlocked.


	5. Brothers

The first member of the group Murphy saw was the kid they’d glimpsed from the window earlier that day; he was about thirteen or so, wearing a sheriff’s hat and the look of someone much older than himself. They shared a look before the kid was beckoned away and did as he was told, still watching Murphy until he went out of sight. He could hear the others talking amongst each other in hushed tones, as though they were scared of the prisoners hearing what was being said, despite the fact Rick was talking about them. Not that Murphy could see his or his brother’s opinions mattering too much to a group of survivor yuppies.

At Daryl’s muttered command, he straightened up away from the railing, stepping back and joining Connor by the wall. He looked calm enough, but if you knew him well, as well as Murphy did, you’d be able to tell by the way he had his arms folded, and the way his brows were creased together that he was worried. Giving him a nudge, Murphy motioned for him to join him on the floor, before starting their own conversation, once again in Irish Gaelic, being mindful to keep his tone down so as not to draw attention.   
  
“You okay?” Connor tried to smile, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Aye”

“Fuckin’ liar”

“You got me…don’t worry about me, Murph’. I’m fine.” A tall order from one twin to another. They worried about each other, regardless of what the other said.

“Once we’ve got our own block that’ll be it, we’ll be sorted.”

“Listen to you, all supportive of my plan all of a sudden”

“…Yeah, well - don’t have much of a fuckin’ choice do I?”

Another half-assed smile, but this one dropped a lot faster. Murphy didn’t like seeing his brother like this; he already felt like enough of a dick for being so difficult before, and knowing Connor was probably overthinking every detail of what was in their near future made him feel even worse. They were meant to be in this together, but it felt like he’d pushed him away – made him deal with the brunt of it alone.

“…Look, Conn’ – I’m sorry, a’right? For actin’ like a prick earlier. I didn’t mean t’make things worse…you don’t have to worry, we’re gonna get through this. Together, yeah? Like always?”

“S’not your fault, Murph’. The only thing that made this worse was this group here finding the prison…” Resting his head back against the scum-green concrete, he shut his eyes briefly, gently knocking his head against the wall a few times, eventually stopping and opening his eyes again.

“They’ve got more people…it’s not fuckin’ fair…”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean, it’d be easier for them to clear out another block, leave us be. ‘Can’t risk the manpower’ – fuck that! It’s gonna be fuckin’ risk if you’ve got ten or ten hundred people. Of course, we’re the bad guys here…they’d prefer it if we were outta the picture, I get that, I understand it…”

“They don’t give a shit about us; pure and simple-”

“But I fuckin’ do!” The spike in Connor’s voice brought Daryl’s scrutinizing gaze back to them. He said nothing, but proceeded to watch them that much more closely, hands on that damned crossbow as though he was waiting for a wild animal to let down its guard. Connor just looked back at Murphy, eyes looking far too old for their age.

“I’ve done everything I can to keep us safe – keep _you_ safe. And I thought that gettin’ this block cleared out would fix that for a while. You know how many men were in this fuckin’ place? God knows how we’re gonna do this all this again-”

“You think I’m gonna let anythin’ to happen to you either? Connor, come on – I’ve got your back. Nothin’s gonna happen, we’re gonna be fine. An’ the more you worry and overfuckin’think it, the more worked up you’re gonna get.” He pushed an arm round his twin’s shoulders, pulling him into an awkward, round-the-neck hug.

“We’ll go into this like we always do, and we’ll walk out the other side fit as fuckin’ anythin’, alright?”

He didn’t release him from the affectionate strangle hold until he saw Connor smirk – a little more genuinely, this time – and nod in understanding. Rubbing his neck melodramatically with one hand and playfully punching Murphy’s arm with the other, Connor’s smirk gave way to a weak grin.

“Y’should consider writin’ for Hallmark – your little speech just then? Practically brought me to tears it did.”

“Oh fuck you, you know you’re-” Murphy was cut off by Rick nearing the top of the stairs, motioning for Daryl to join him again as he bee-lined for the brothers. They got to their feet, any traces of smiles now vanished. Firmly pressing a hand to Connor’s shoulder, he began to lead him away, though they barely got three steps before Connor tried shrugging him off, only to have Rick’s grip tighten a little more.

“The fuck’s goin’ on?”

“I’m not fuckin’ blind – you don’t need to fuckin’ lead me-” and then came more of Murphy’s intervention.

“I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you! The fuck’re you takin’ him?” Grabbing Connor’s sleeve, Murphy pulled him back, and consequently out of Rick’s grasp, this time making sure it was Connor who was slightly behind him. Rick turned on his heel and took a stepped towards them both, his tone and expression as no-nonsense as ever.

“You know where he’s going. He’s going to show us where the infirmary and the supplies are.”

Fuck. Murphy had forgotten about that part. Evidently, Connor had not.

“You want to go now..?”

“It’s getting late; we’ll help you with the cell block tomorrow, but we’ve got enough time for you to make good on the other part of our deal.”

“Can we just-”

“I got a group down there who haven’t eaten properly in days. We’re going. Now.”

Hesitantly, Connor nodded, though his hand found its way to Murphy’s upper arm before he turned to look at him. That same anxiety, that same heavy concern that had been weighing on him earlier was back; Murphy could see it in his face, and the prospect of his twin going into the snake pit so soon – and alone…fuck, no. He couldn’t do this, not without Murphy. This sudden, new situation had every fibre of him wanting to fight the possibility, the fact that Connor might not come back. It was both of them or neither of them – a philosophy that this group of fuckwits seemed to be having real difficulty wrapping their American heads around.   
  
Giving Murphy’s arm a reassuring squeeze, he gave him the best smile he could muster.

“Don’t give me that look, Murph’ – don’t worry, I’ll be back soon”

“You’re not goin’ – not by yourself, not with them-”

“Yes, he is. That was the deal, that’s what’s going to happen.”

“So fuckin’ take me as well! Safety in numbers and all that shit”

“No.”

“Why?!”

Leaning into another step, Rick’s tone dropped to a harsh mutter.

“Because we know nothing about you both, and by the looks of it you work better together. You could be violent psychopaths for all I know, and I’m not putting my people in harm’s way anymore than I have to. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

Whether he liked it or not, it made sense to Connor, but to Murphy it was all just twisted bullshit. After a very tense stare down, Connor finally broke the tension by giving his brother a quick hug, mumbling a few words of comfort into his shoulder;

“Try not to get a bolt between the eyes, a’right?”

Pulling away, he didn’t give Murphy the chance to say anything back as he followed Rick down the steps. Daryl took up his place on the top stair, constantly narrowed eyes focused on the remaining prisoner. Giving him the dirtiest look he could, Murphy turned his attention to where Rick was nearly walking out of sight, and whistled down obnoxiously loudly, grabbing his attention long enough to say;

“He comes back alive, or you get to see for yourself what we did to get put in here.”


	6. Proposition

The cell block wasn’t far from the infirmary, but it wasn’t the distance that had Connor worried. It was the walkers that had inevitably wandered into the corridors and rooms that made him entertain the possibility that he might not come back. He didn’t know how many prisoners were held here, or how many guards had been trapped inside with them when the chaos had rained down. Equally, he had no idea how many others were still alive, if any were at all. And if there were any remaining prisoners alive in this section of the prison, would they be trouble? Most likely. The twins only fought when they needed to defend themselves – other than that, they kept to themselves as much as they could. But he very much doubted that any other convicts in this place shared their philosophy. Without anyone to enforce the law, he knew any surviving prisoners would take full advantage of the circumstances.

They were set to go in minutes. The group consisted of him, Rick, some guy called T Dog, an older man called Hershel, and two younger members, Glenn and a young woman called Maggie, all of whom regarded him with suspicion and the cold shoulder. He didn’t mind especially; he just needed to do what they’d agreed, and the sooner he did that, the sooner they could get back to the safety of block C. Rick wasn’t willing to give him his gun back at first, but eventually Connor managed to talk him round; it was either that or a melee weapon of some kind, either way, he’d have to be armed. With weapons checked, the barred door was opened and they set off. As he’d thought, it wasn’t long before they ran into walkers – one after the other, like they were in a video game and the monsters kept spawning, over and over. It was easy enough to put them down at first, but soon navigating the halls in darkness became more and more of a challenge. And the further away from the block they travelled, the higher the risk became.

Walkers would lurch forward from dark corners, entire top halves of bodies would grab at ankles from the floor. Each gunshot was like a ticking time bomb before more of the undead found them, and more than once Connor nearly had chucks ripped from his arms or legs. Surprisingly enough, the others helped him if needed, and in return he watched out for them. But it wasn’t out of a sense of unity, for them at least. He was simply a means to an end, and one who knew the way back at that. As much as they probably loathed the idea, they needed to make sure Connor returned in one piece. Murphy’s warning did remain in the back of Rick’s mind as the decayed brains of a walker painted the wall, and it pushed him to make the prisoner leading the way exactly what it was that had him and his brother locked away, as well as fortified the faith in his decision to separate the two of them, for this mission at least. He didn’t trust Murphy. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of trusting Connor either, but for now that was what he had to do.

Blood stained and adrenaline pumped, soon the doors to the cafeteria were being closed and barricaded, the sounds of walkers on the other side muffled and strangely distant – as though they were simply playing on a TV screen somewhere close by. Once the doors were secure, the others all looked to Connor, who was doing his best to clear the blood and debris from his face.

“…That went as well as could be expected…”

Before Rick had to ask, Connor gestured to a set of doors across the room.

“It’s all kept in there.”

As it turned out, ‘the food supplies’ were far more plentiful than any of them had first imagined. Even Connor looked a little awe struck at the stacked shelves and piles of cans and bottles. It was dark, but with their flashlights and the small windows set in the tops of the walls, the group could see that the shelving units were set out like a library, all taller than he remembered them being with ‘aisles’ between them. A whistle skimmed through the air as he stepped further in, taking some non-descript tin from the nearest shelf, turning it over in his hand; it was soup, or so it was labelled.

“This enough for the whole ten of you?”  He asked with a small smirk, looking over at Rick, though the side glance he got in return was less than joking.

“This is amazing…think of how long it’ll all last us!” Maggie exclaimed, moving between the rows of shelves, seemingly trying to take in everything she was seeing. Casually wandering towards the opposite end of the shelves, Connor joined Maggie in the third aisle down, keeping his distance but wanting to test the waters with a civil conversation.

“It’s not exactly Walmart, but it’s better than nothin’, eh?” 

She hesitated before looking away, although Connor could have sworn there was a smile there, if only a small one before Glenn appeared behind her, a hand going to the small of her back as he shot Connor a warning look. He just put his hands up – ‘no harm done’ – before going back to find Rick. He hadn’t expected any of them to talk to him if they had a choice – but, it was worth a shot.

“You’re gonna need help – bringing most of this back”

“We’re fine. You take what you need, and we’ll head back.” Glancing round at the others, who were busy filling two of the bags they’d brought with them, Connor motioned for Rick to step to the side for a moment.

“Look – you want nothin’ to do with me and me brother, I understand that. And I know Murphy’s a little…hot headed, but, I’ve been thinkin’ - we can be helpful to you lot.” Before Rick could protest, Connor pressed on, raising a hand in a placating gesture.

“We know our way round, we can hold our own, we’re used to hard labour, whatever you wanna call it. We can help…take bodies out, clear out the yard, fortify shit.”

“You think I’m going to let you near my wife or my son?”

“We’ll prove ourselves to you – just give us a chance to do that? We can be helpful, and I don’t need to tell you there’s safety in numbers.”

“You were all for having your own cell block before – nothing’s changed.”

“I’m not saying that part has to. We’d live in another block if you’d prefer it that way, we could do that. You said you’ve got a wife and son – you’ve been keepin’ ‘em safe this long, right?”

“I’m not discussing this with you”

“Murphy’s my brother – we’re twins, if you can believe it. Born and raised Catholic, both of us. I know you’ve got no reason to trust us, but I know you can sympathise when I say I’d do anythin’ to protect him. Anythin’. Family’s one of the only things we’ve got left, Rick – and if keeping my family safe means gettin’ you to trust me, I’m willing to work for that. And I know Murphy will be too.”

“Rick, we’ve got enough- we should go back.”

“Give us a minute?” Connor asked, turning towards Hershel, who, instead of ignoring him or talking over him, paused for a moment, before giving him a nod, which the Irishman returned gratefully.

“Look…you’ve got a good group here, by the looks of it. Just, consider it? I’m askin’ man to man here.”

“I won’t consider anything until you answer me one question.”

“What?”

“Why are you both here.”


	7. In blood and bond

To say the atmosphere in cell block C was tense would have been a massive understatement. The rest of the group knew Murphy was well in their vicinity, but they couldn’t see him, and therefore couldn’t make much of a judgement about him. If you know what a threat looks like, it’s human nature to react from there. In Carl’s opinion, he hadn’t looked like much – not nearly as threatening as he thought he would be. When you picture a convict, you imagine tattoos – or at least, more than he had – maybe a shaved head, a permanent scowl. He looked up to where Daryl was on his guard, sat near the stairs with his crossbow ready to fire should the prisoner act up.

But it was in both their best interests for Murphy to while away the minutes lost in his own thoughts, impatiently switching between laying on his bunk and pacing like a caged animal. They’d only been gone around twenty minutes, but already it felt like too long. Skulking out of the cell, he ran his hands through his hair stepping this way and that, before Daryl suddenly spoke up.

“Quit pacin’…it’s annoying as hell”

“Fuck you, man…” he snapped back, but it lacked its usual bite. He was worried for Connor, and would be on edge probably long after he got back. The skin around his thumbs were already starting to bleed, but he kept scratching at them anxiously, closing his eyes and bowing his head slightly as familiar prayers made their way out of his mouth in faithful mutters. For a minute, Daryl just watched him curiously, only catching small snippets of what was being said.

“…You prayin’?”

Without opening his eyes, “The fuck does it look like.”

Daryl paused for a moment, before adding, “Didn’t have you down as religious.”

“You gonna keep interupptin’ me?”

Daryl just shrugged and looked away, and Murphy continued for a minute or two longer before crossing himself and lifting his head again, now resting it against the wall behind him. Though his actions had piqued Daryl’s interest, not so much because it was common ground, but because it had taken him by surprise.

“You prayin’ for him? Your brother?”

At first Murphy considered telling him where to shove his damn questions, but instead he looked at his hands, giving a slow nod.

“They’ve been gone too long…they should be back by now”

“Keep your panties on, they only left, what? Twenty, twenty five minutes ago?”

“The cafeteria ain’t far from here, it wouldn’t take ‘em this long to do one trip there, let alone a return.”

“You’re forgettin’ the walkers…gotta take care’a all them first-”

“Alright, if it’s all the fuckin’ same, would you mind shuttin’ the fuck up? I know there’s walkers, I don’t you fuckin’ reminding me”

“I’m just sayin’. It’s gonna take ‘em a while to get there and back. Relax.”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to relax. That’s my brother out there”

“Yeah, with five members of my group. You ain’t the only one who’s got concerns – bitchin’ about it won’t help any.”

“Connor’s out there with walkers and with five fuckin’ strangers that don’t give a shit about whether he comes back alive or not. I’ll stop bitchin’ when he’s back here in one fuckin’ piece.”

“And what? You think sittin’ around mopin’ is gonna help that happen?”

“What else can I fuckin’ do?!”

Daryl just rolled his eyes, and muttered something under his breath, but said nothing else. Their conversation hit a dead end for a while after that – both subconsciously knowing that if it escalated, a fight would end in tears and just cause more problems down the line. But still, after a few minutes of tense silence had bounced between them, Daryl looked up again when he noticed Murphy getting to his feet.

“Where do y’think you’re going?”

“I’m standing up, going back to my fuckin’ cell – that alright with you, Mary Poppins?” Murphy sneered in reply, despite the joke being totally lost on Daryl, who simply raised his crossbow, signalling the end to their delightful exchange.

Waiting until he was back behind bars, Carol came a little way up the stairs, eyes not really leaving the door to his cell.

“Everything alright?”

“Tsch, yeah…”

“What was all that about?”

“Nothin’. Just gettin’ pissy that his brother’s out of here and he’s not.”

“They’ve been gone a while…shouldn’t they be back soon?”

“Not you too – they’re fine. Rick’s careful, he ain’t gonna rush anythin’. They’ll be back when they’re back.”

“And then what?”

“Then we rest up I guess, till tomorrow. A few of us’ve gotta help these asshole’s, then we’re clear of them for good”

With another glance towards Murphy’s cell, Carol noticed how he was sat; perched on the edge of his bunk with elbows resting on knees, he had his head in his hand, the other partially hidden from view. It looked like he was fiddling with a necklace of some kind, but she couldn’t see clearly. His eyes were closed, but he seemed…not sad, but sick with worry. It was a look any parent could recognise. And by the way his body was turned, he was trying to block out what they were saying. Subtly, she lowered her voice a little the next time she spoke.

“Are they violent..?”

“If they are, I ain’t seen it. Had ‘em at gun point since we found ‘em.

“…Do you know why they’re here?”

“You ask a lot of questions” He replied, a slight hint of jest to his tone. She just shrugged back and smiled.

“I’ve got to go back down with something to tell the others. Gossip mill’s runnin’ dry these days”

They both smirked at that, but Daryl just shook his head.

“Nah, he ain’t said and I haven’t asked. It’s not like he’ll be around us much longer anyway; no point in askin’ about somethin’ I don’t give a damn over”

 

 

In his cell, Murphy was praying again, trying to block out the ‘hushed’ conversation Daryl and that woman were having. His fingertips rolled the beads of his rosary to and fro, hoping for a least a little peace of mind until the others returned. He should have pushed for another deal, or tried fucking anything else than just staying quiet. Connor was looking out for the both of them, but God only knew Murphy resented him for agreeing to this shit. No…no, he didn’t resent him, he couldn’t. It was just driving him mad, being away from his brother, doing absolutely fuck all while he could be in trouble, or bitten, or dead already. They went into this shit together, and it killed him to think that they might not leave the same way. What if that had been the last time he’d seen Connor? That thought alone caused him to clamp his eyes shut tighter, and grip his rosary with that much more conviction.

Nearly an hour passed, and still he remained alone.


	8. Empty Handed

It was only a brief hesitation, but it was enough to make Rick ask again. But instead of answering straight away, Connor just looked him straight in the eyes.

“We don’t need to have this discussion here-”

“I’m thinking we do.”

“The longer we’re here, the more danger we’re in a’right? Let’s just get back to the cells, I’ll tell you everythin’ then”

“He’s right, Rick” Came Hershel’s voice again, calm but authoritative. “The sooner we get back the better. We can all talk about this, later.”

Glenn and Maggie stepped up behind Hershel, bags filled to capacity and eyes glancing from their leader to the convict.

“We, ah…we got everything, enough to last a few days, easy…”

Evidently Rick didn’t like being disagreed with, but he knew they had to get back. Looking from the doors back to Connor, he fixed him with a hard look and leaned an inch or so closer.

“We’re going to continue this, _later._ ”

Raising both hands at hip height, Connor just nodded sincerely, before slowly stepping around the older man to pass through the supply room doors.

“Unless a lot more walkers have wandered this way, we should be able to get back easily enough-”

“We’ve got enough ammo to last another trip – come on, let’s move.”

Glenn may as well have pushed him out of the way, but cutting him off mid-sentence to speak directly to Rick did the trick well enough. But the Irishman didn’t rise to the bait, as he knew his brother would have. He silently hoped that for both their sakes, Murphy was managing to not provoke any fights or get himself in the shit. He knew he’d be worrying, anxious; but Murphy didn’t worry like most people. When he worried he curled in on himself, but would lash out until the object of his concern had been returned or dealt with, depending on the situation. Connor felt horrible for putting his brother through this, but he knew it was for the best. Things would be better after this was over. He had to believe that.

But first he had to get himself back in one piece.

As quietly as was physically possible, they moved the cafeteria table that had been acting as a barricade against the main doors. Any sound above a whisper echoed terribly, as though thunder clouds were rolling through the empty spaces as easily as smoke. But they moved on without hesitation, weapons out and everyone’s attention on every space around them. For the first few minutes, it was smooth sailing; there weren’t many corners, and an affirming nod from Connor told Rick he was headed in the right direction. There were walkers, but not many – and for a while, it seemed that they’d get back before it got too dark.

At one point in the corridor, they had to step over and between the rotting corpses of long-dead walkers, which was stomach turning, but all eyes remained ahead.

And that was when Hershel fell. A walker had latched itself onto his ankle – the scream that followed had barely started when the creature sank its gravestone teeth into his lower leg. The group’s reaction was instantaneous; Maggie yelled out for him, and went to help him up. Connor kicked it loose of its victim and put a bullet in its skull. Rick had Hershel up in seconds, supporting near all his weight as they scrambled to decide what they should do.

“We can’t stop!”

“We go back – we know it’s clear that way”

“We’re not going back there!”

Murmurings and the sound of groans were already present and rapidly heading their way, the acoustics of the empty hallways carrying the promise of death alongside the smell of rotting flesh. Without saying another word, Rick turned and headed straight back the way they’d just come – the others had no choice but to follow.

With the barricade being put to use once more, Connor re-joined the group, his blood pumping in his ears so hard he could barely hear anything anyone was saying, if they were in fact saying anything at all. Maggie was cradling Hershel’s head, tears already coating her face. What happened next all went frame by frame. Connor saw the trouser leg being ripped apart, part of what would become the bloody undoing of this old man. He found himself pulling his rosary out from under his shirt, muttering a prayer so quickly he barely understood the words himself, before removing the beads from his neck and hurriedly pressing into Hershel’s palm. He didn’t know if he was religious or not, but when he saw Maggie’s hand close over her fathers, and in turn enveloping the wooden beads in pain-shaken fingers, he wanted to think it would help him. No one noticed, not really – but what did grab attention was the flash of a hatchet, and the sudden, sickening ‘thunk’ of it being embedded in Hershel’s leg.   
  
Again  
  
And again  
  
and again

And again.

 

T Dog was saying something, his tone ridden with nauseous disbelief, Glenn remained slack jawed and pale. Hershel passed out within moments – which, Connor supposed briefly – was in his best interest. There was already a belt being fashioned into a tourniquet as he realized Rick was speaking to him. He was asking if there was another way out, to which Connor nodded dumbly. He liked to think he had a strong stomach at the best of times, but the events of the last few minutes would stay with him a good week or so.

With an order barked at Glenn to bring one of the long, wheeled table units over, they all worked fast to get Hershel up onto the surface.

And in an act that he knew would get him a beating later, Connor finally broke his silence.

“You’ll need medical supplies-”

“Clear the doorway – Glenn, I need you to get those doors open and get rid of the first few walkers. Maggie? Maggie, listen to me – you have to help Glenn right now”

“Rick, he’s gonna make it without bandages, pills, that shorta shit-”

“Where’s the infirmary from here? How far?!”

“Not far – take him back to the cells, I’ll go get what he needs.”

“You sure you want-”

“I know the way, just fucking go!”

Connor had already grabbed Rick’s hatchet and was at the far end of the room making a break through a set of swing doors before any of them cared to argue. Getting back to the cell block was a nightmare, but by the time voices were heard, the rest of the group were on their feet, ready to welcome back their brave volunteers.

It was only when he heard the excitement from the floor below that Murphy scrambled to his feet, practically flying out of his cell and leaning over the railing, straining to see Connor. He heard crying, panicked voices and a level of urgency rise so fast he could almost taste it. Daryl was down at the bottom of the stairs, going straight to Rick, who immediately pointed him right back up where he’d come from. However, the man he was supposed to be guarding was already two steps from the bottom, scanning the scene with an unreadable expression.

“Where’s my brother..?” Daryl told him to back up, to go upstairs, but Murphy pointedly ignored him, shoving his way past and going for Rick.

“Where the fuck is he? Where the _fuck is my fucking brother-_ ”

Daryl had a fistful of his prison uniform in half a second, yanking him back so hard he barely kept his balance. But he caught himself on the railing, this time rounding on Daryl and shunting him away with more force than before. He hadn’t even noticed what was happening in the cell off to his right, nor did he care about why everyone was crying or snapping at one another or why there was an elderly man slowly bleeding out on one of the bunks. _Where was Connor? Why is Connor not here?_  
  
Rick pulled him out of the immediate area and out of the barred jail gate, throwing him away from himself as though he was a contagion. His gun was aimed at Murphy before the Irishman could take another breath.

“Why isn’t Connor with you?! I told you to bring him back, so where the fuck is he?!”

“There was an accident - someone got bit”

There are few words that could describe Murphy’s face at that point. His mouth opened and shut, and no words came out when he told them to. His mouth was suddenly so dry and his chest so tight he could barely breathe.

“…What?”

“One of my group got bit. Your brother went to find the infirmary, bring back medical supplies for him.”

Murphy felt like he might be sick; on the one hand, Connor hadn’t been the one bitten. On the other hand, he was still in the snake pit. Wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, he tried to remain composed as the hand dropped back to his side, needing to know the answer to his next question but not wanting to hear it. He could practically feel his voice cracking as he took another deep breath, and asked;

“…Who’s with him?”

 


	9. Countdown

Regardless of the weapon trained on him, at that moment, Murphy wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of Rick. Break his nose and feed him his teeth. Make him bleed, let the punches roll till his knuckles split open.

“You let him go alone…is that what you’re fuckin’ telling me?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Rick replied coolly, eyes cold as they watched Murphy’s reactions evolve.

“What did I fuckin’ say to you before you left?!”

“Things changed. Shit happens. And for the record, we didn’t send him out there – he volunteered. He ran off before we could stop him, and we didn’t have the option to run after him and haul him back.”

He had volunteered? That sounded like something Connor would do, but Jesus Christ was it the dumbest fucking thing he could have done. Didn’t he think of what he’d put Murphy through? He knows if the roles were reversed, leaving Connor behind would be the one thing he’d want to avoid. Cursing under his breath, Murphy scrubbed his nails through his hair, thinking over his new plan before looking up at Rick again. The officer could see his eyes had become glazed with emotion, but nothing was different; he was a criminal, and the fact his brother had played the hero didn’t change the fact that Hershel was slowly bleeding to death in the cells. Maybe if this didn’t escalate and Connor was successful, maybe then they could loosen the reigns. Perhaps let the boys prove themselves. Just then, Murphy thrust his hand out.

“Give me my gun.”

“That’s not gonna happen-”

“Hand it over so I can go after him. The longer he’s out there alone, the more danger he’s in, and I’m not gonna leave him to fuckin’ die.”

“You leave now – fine, but what happens if he comes back and you’re gone? I’m willing to stick to our deal – after that, I don’t give a shit about what happens to either of you. But until then, you’ll stay here until he gets back.”

“That’s my fucking brother you left out there to rot, you sack of-”

“Dad?”

Both of their attention was pulled by the kid Murphy had seen before, the one with the sheriff’s hat– they sized each other up briefly, but Murphy didn’t bother with him long.

“What is it?”

“It’s Hershel - You should come see him.”

“In a minute”

“He’s bleeding real bad – Carol needs to talk to you”

Rick just looked from his son to Murphy, and motioned to the small set of steps behind him.

“You’re staying out here till your brother gets back.”

“Fine by me.”

The cell block door was locked as Rick passed through, though Carl hesitated before going after him, looking at Murphy as children at a zoo would upon a predator. He didn’t know how bad his brother could be; we was risking his life for a stranger, after all. But he wasn’t sure what he thought about the one left behind.

Only when he was completely alone did Murphy let the cracks show, waves of anxiety seeping through his flesh and bonding with his bones, making him feel physically sick and forcing his head into his hands. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to survive here as long as they could, then take their chances on the outside. That had been Connor’s plan, and that was the plan they’d argued over and eventually gone with. Nowhere in that plan was Connor supposed to run off and be a stupid fucking hero for someone neither of them knew. Nowhere in that plan was Connor supposed to leave Murphy alone. They stuck together, always.

Over the course of the next two hours, members of the group within the block came and went out of view, and the sounds of frantic talking died down to the occasional exchange. At one point Glenn and Carol had to leave the block, and Murphy was finally forced to move from his place on the steps, instead slumping to the floor and resting his head on his knees, more than happy to be ignored by the others. That was, until he heard the doors open again minutes later, and a new set of footsteps approach where he was sat.

“…Hey”

Murphy stayed quiet, and at first, Carl thought he might have fallen asleep – until he inhaled heavily, the sound wet and muffled as though he was crying. Looking back at the cells to check no one had seen him slip away, he tried again, leaning forward and nudging the convict with the bottle of water he’d take from the supplies.

“This is for you…I figured you haven’t had anything for a while…”

“Fuck off, kid…”

“…I bet he’s okay – the guy that ran off, to get the medical supplies? He’s your brother, right? He looked pretty tough…”

There was a pause, before Murphy slowly lifted his head, subtly wiping a hand under his eyes and across his face as he did so, although even in the dim lighting, Carl could see how bloodshot his eyes were. Cautiously, he held the bottle out again, and this time Murphy took it.

“That’s because he is…but he’s also a fuckin’ idiot…”

As soon as the first few gulps of water slid down his throat he immediately felt better, though the only thanks Carl got was brief eye contact and a curt nod. Going back a few paces, the kid sat on one of the table tops, watching the stranger, and thinking of what to ask next.

“Must be cool, having an older brother. I never did-”

“He’s not the older one – we’re the same age”

“So, you’re twins? You don’t look that much alike.”

“Aye, well…we’ve been told…”

“…You’re pretty close, huh?”

He didn’t get an answer to that one straight away; the older man seemed to tense up a little, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“You ask a lot of questions, Rick’s-kid.”

“It’s Carl.”

After a pause, “…Murphy. And me brother’s Connor.”

So far, so good. He seemed alright to the boy, when he was calm anyway. His parents would lose it if they saw him talking to a prisoner, but his guts had told him ‘Murphy’ was okay. And he’d been right, as far as he could tell.

“So…what’d you guys do to get put in here?”

“Y’not meant to ask that, you know”

“Well, I am.”

After another large mouthful, Murphy glanced up as he wondered how to word his answer.

“Do you believe in God, Carl?”

The kid thought, but eventually shook his head steadily.

“No. Not really.”

“Then you won’t understand.”

“Try me-”

“Carl!”

Both of them snapped their heads up to see Rick coming through the doors. He went to grab Carl up, but the kid was a step ahead, hopping down off the table and backing away from his father – not in fear, but in preparation to defend himself.

“What did I tell you? Get back in there – we’re going to talk about this later”

“We were just-”

“Get out of here.”

Exhaling in inevitable defeat, Carl skulked off back into the cell block. Murphy, on the other hand, got to his feet with far less urgency. Though his mood quickly shot from calm and docile to pre-bar fight when Rick got right up in his face.

“You don’t talk to him, _ever –_ You hear me? You don’t talk to anyone here-”

“Fuck you, asshole – he came here, he talked to me – so get the fuck out of my face before I-”

“Rick! Hey – Rick, open the fuckin’ gate man!”

Both men turned at the third voice. When Rick realized who it was he grabbed up the keys, going to the barred door and unlocking it in seconds. Practically falling past him, Connor waited for the door to be locked again before he unhooked a black bag from his shoulder and passed it to Rick, who took it without a word and hurried back into the cells. Murphy just stared at him as he tried to catch his breath for a minute, before he straightened up, the look on his face falling when he saw how his brother was looking at him.

It was Connor. His arms were coated with blackish blood, it was in his hair and spattered across his face, soaking into his prison uniform. But it was him. Alive. Alive and okay.

 


	10. The right thing

Connor couldn’t stop himself from smiling, in relief if nothing else. Although he knew Murphy would be safe here, it was still good to see he was alright. Taking a step forward, he went to hug his twin.

“Murph’-”

However, he didn’t even manage to get his brother’s name out before Murphy had crossed the room and hit him right in the face, forcing him back a step. And then back a few more when Murphy shoved him, and again, and then another hit, but this one didn’t land as hard as he meant it to.

“You’re a FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE – You hear me?!”

“Murphy-”

“No FUCK YOU, Connor. I mean it, go fuck yourself. You’re such a fucking _asshole”_

Connor said nothing at first, just touched his jaw gingerly as Murphy continued – he’d backed a few feet away for the time being, as though he was worried about hitting Connor again and not being able to stop. While with Murphy, just seeing the oblivious look on his dumbass brother’s face was enough to really open the floodgates.

“Why did y’think that was smart? What the fuck was going through your fuckin’ head to make you think goin’ out there alone was a clever fucking idea-?! Tell me, Connor! Because I’m having a really hard time workin’ out how you thought it’d be okay to just leave me here-”

“Murphy…”

“Don’t fuckin’ say anything to me, Conn’ – You have _no idea_ what the past few hours have been like for me. No fuckin’ clue. An’ then you have the balls to stand there and fuckin’ smile at me..? Like it’s nothin’? Like you’ve only been gone 5 minutes? I had no fuckin’ idea if you were alive, or dead, or havin’ your fuckin’ guts torn outta your belly by one of those fuckin’ things…you would’a turned into one of those things and I wouldn’t have fuckin’ known…”

He always was the more emotional one, always had been. He had been a reckless little shit as a child, always the first to shout and talk back to adults and get them both in trouble. That’s not to say Connor didn’t partake in his share of misadventures, but Murphy was always the one that really felt things – when he was sad, he wouldn’t cry, but would retreat in on himself. If he was happy he’d bounce off the walls and not stop smiling till sleep took him. And when he got angry, oh man…the amount of playground frights Connor had had to throw himself into to stop Murphy having the shit kicked out of him, and end up having them both thrown in detention…everything was so intense with him, even when he was calm and quiet. And that hadn’t changed a bit as they’d grown into men. Even now, Connor could still see the pissed off fifteen year old that he’d argue with, and the sixteen year old who would always stand up for his peers if they needed it, spitting in the face of their tormentor, often regardless of their size.

And now, all of Murphy’s emotions washing over his face one after the other; the rage at his brother for not returning with the others, relief he was alive, and the raw sorrow of having to go hours not knowing if he might have lost his only remaining family.

Roughly, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, only breaking eye contact with Connor for a second. He’d never seen him this angry before, not at him. And Connor could feel his stomach slowly turning to stone as a result. Murphy shrugged at him, holding his hands out to the sides for a moment before letting them drop back.

“...Why’d you do it, Connor?”

Swallowing thickly, the other twin took in a breath or two.

“…The old man, Hershel - he got bitten, and had his leg cut off. He was gonna bleed out without first aid, he needed antibiotics, bandages-”

“So?”

“...What?”

Murphy’s normally smoky blue eyes were hard as iron now, set in an expression that aged him. Though with a glance over to the cells, he switched to Gaelic as easily as breathing.

“You heard me.”

“You think I was just gonna let him die..?”

“If it meant the difference between you comin’ back in one piece or not, then aye, y’should have.”

“Who am I talkin’ to here? Murphy, I couldn’t just not do anything – you know I couldn’t, and you wouldn’t either.” He searched his twin’s face for any sign that Murphy agreed. “You know you wouldn’t-”

“You’re wrong. Before, aye, I would help. I’d do anything I could to save him. But this is a different world, Connor. If there was a risk I’d die and have you carry on alone? I know exactly what I’d do and that wouldn’t be it. I mean, did you even think of me _once_ while you were out bein’ Superman?”

“Don’t you dare say that to me, Murphy – of course I did!…I was gone a few hours, that’s all-”

“No it’s fucking _not ‘all’–_ Jesus Christ Connor, if I have to explain this to you I don’t know who the fuck I’m talking to either! That? What you did? We do that shit together. Both or neither, remember that? It wasn’t fuckin’ clever and you’re not some fuckin’ hero!”

His tone dropped considerably as he switched back to English, as though he was still aware of the audience at the bars of the cell block door.

 “…You’re my brother – you’re my brother and we’re supposed to have each other’s backs. Do you have any fuckin’ idea what it’d do to me if…if I lost you…? Because if I’m being really honest right now, I don’t have the first goddamned clue”

The profanities and ranting came to close as Connor grabbed the front of Murphy’s shirt and slowly pulled him into a hug, arms immediately winding tightly around the other. He could tell his brother was trying not to cry anymore, regardless of whether or not Murphy would go to the grave denying it. Any guilt he’d felt when he was away from the cell block had intensified by ten hundred in that moment – despite their being the same height, Murphy had never felt smaller or more  vulnerable to him, like he was comforting his eight year old self after a particularly harsh scolding from their mother.

“…’m sorry, Murphy…I’m so sorry”

“If you ever fuckin’ do that to me again, Connor I swear to God-”

“I won’t, Murph’, I won’t…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t’put you through that…I was just tryin’ to do the right thing”


	11. Bridging the gap

Murphy slept very little that night, and what little rest he did get was fitful and shallow and laced with nightmares. By the time dawn came around, both brothers were awake, both sitting on the bottom bunk, occasionally speaking in whispers, but it was mostly Murphy reaffirming himself that his brother was still there.

At one point, he felt a small nudge to his ribcage, and with a sleepy turn of the head, he could vaguely see Connor looking at him with a weak smile.

“You okay?”

“Fuckin’ tired, but…yeah. I’m good.”

“Could try sleeping again”

“I’m fine, stop fussin’…I swear to God you’re worse than Ma…”

The mention of their mother quietened them both for a few minutes. They didn’t talk about her, not really. Not anymore. There wasn’t any point. Rubbing his finger back and forth across his eyes a few times, Murphy leant his head back against the wall with a tired sigh.

“…’m sorry…for hittin’ you”

“Nah, you’re not.”

“…Yeah, you’re right”  
  
“I did kind of deserve it, I would’a knocked you right on your arse if it’d been you”

“You would’a tried your hardest to knock me on my arse – probably couldn’t though. We both know I’m the better fighter-”

“Oh fuck off are you!”

Now both twins were smiling and sniggering, but equally, both of them were relieved to be together again.

The next night wasn’t much better, but this time Connor woke up of his own accord, shaking Murphy awake and quietly reassuring him as he came to. Once again, they ended up on Connor’s bunk, but this time Murphy fell asleep again soon after, eventually ending up using his brother as a resting post, his body awkwardly folded against the wall and Connor’s shoulder, most of his legs dangling off the end of the bed. It felt like they were kids again, and for a little while, Connor entertained the nostalgia that had him feeling so heavy in the chest.

As children they’d always shared a room, even well into their teenage years – their mother’s house was only small, so they’d always been in each other’s hair, not that it mattered. But it meant that, from around age eight or nine when Murphy had started getting bad nightmares –or ‘night terrors’, the doctor had called them - on a regular basis, it was always Connor he went to first. It was always Connor that woke up in the morning absolutely frozen to the bone because his brother was curled next to him, cocooned in his duvet. And it was always Connor that never said a word about it. Murphy was easily embarrassed, and anything beyond brotherly teasing, Connor kept to himself. He’d never thought there was anything to be embarrassed about; by what Murphy told him, the nightmares sounded terrifying. And after having one graphically described to him, he had no issue with getting up in the middle of the night to shake his brother awake. That’s what this reminded Connor of – although Murphy had gradually grown out of it, these past nights had highlighted to him exactly how much his absence had effected his sibling.

As the minutes turned to hours, he drifted in and out of consciousness, but gradually the block was illuminated by the rising sun, and by about eight o’clock, the group had begun to wake up. The morning conversation woke Connor first- his eyes stung in the light, and he knew he couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep for a second night. He’d be out of it as soon as his head hit the pillow tonight, that was certain. Murphy was completely dead to the world, his breathing heavy and slow. Carefully pushing himself off the bed, Connor edged a pillow halfway under Murphy’s head and got up, seemingly every joint in his body cracking and popping as he cautiously stretched. Sleeping while sat upright never ended well, and his skin felt physically cold to touch from where he’d been resting against the concrete wall. And for a moment, he thought of coffee; of how wonderful a cup of even cheap, shitty coffee would be. Instead, there was a warm bottle of water and a can beans. With no real label.

“Feast fit for a king…”

However, his breakfast was cut short by Rick appearing outside the cell. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep either. With a nodded greeting, he motioned for Connor to follow him, which he did after another final gulp of water. He assumed Rick wanted to speak to him, but when he stopped outside one of the lower cells and gestured inside, Connor had to admit he was surprised. There were two women by the side of Hershel’s bed – one was checking his stump, the other having a conversation he couldn’t quite hear.

“He wanted to talk to you.” Rick had said, fixing Connor with a look that very plainly read ‘if you try anything I’ll make you regret it. Having shot this same look at Murphy enough in the past, Connor gave him another nod, and waited for one of the women – a heavily pregnant brunette with a thin frame – to leave the cell, before gingerly taking her place by the bedside. He gave the first woman a small smile and strangely, she returned it. Whether it was genuine or not, he wasn’t sure.

“…I’m Connor” he told her, keeping his voice low.

“So I’ve heard” she replied, in the same way mother’s talk about friends of their child they disapprove of, a clipped sort of tone that amused the Irishman, in an odd way. Rick was watching from the doorway like a hawk, so Connor thought it best to get straight to the point. Turning towards Hershel, in the morning light he could see he was still very pale and very weak, his skin tight over his bones like tracing paper, and almost as white as the hair on his head.

“How is he?”

“…Better, than yesterday at least. There’s no sign of infection, but I’m sure we have those antibiotics you brought here to thank for that.” There was a pause, before she added;

“We’re all very grateful, for what you did…we appreciate it.”

“It’s nothin’ – don’t mention it.”

“It that was nothing…” came a gruff, hoarse voice from the bed, “…then I can’t wait to see you do ‘something’”

In all honesty, Connor didn’t know what to say. He was generally a very confident man, but this atmosphere, having people so untrusting of his presence alone - he had to admit, it’d knocked him down a few pegs. Eventually, he managed to get something out as Hershel seemed to wake up a little more.

“…I was just doin’ the right thing.”

“And you were prepared to do that…at the risk of getting yourself killed?”

“That’s not quite what was goin’ through-”

“Son…I’m not expecting you to come down here…and entertain an old man. You’ve done all you need to, said all you have to…”

“I don’t understand, I thought- Rick said you wanted to talk to me?”

Slowly, Hershel reached over his shoulder, feeling underneath his pillow for a moment, before bringing out Connor’s rosary.

“I wanted to give you this back.”

He held it out for Connor to take, which he did, rolling the beads across his palm before putting it back around his neck.

“…Thanks.”

“I know Carol already told you – but you should know, I’m very grateful to you. And I know my daughters are too…As far as I’m concerned…anyone willing to do something that damned stupid for a stranger…is someone who’s been in this place long enough. Now, I don’t know what you boys did to get put in here…but I know people…I have a good judge on them, a good read if you like. And I think you’re a good man. You have a good heart.”

For some reason, his words struck a chord. Being treated like prisoners by guards is one thing. Being treated like one after the guards are dead, by civilians – it’s disheartening. Understandable, but disheartening all the same. So hearing someone say that to him, it made Connor smile, softly but sincerely.

“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem.”


	12. The whole ten yards

“Your rosary’s back.”

Connor pressed two of the beads between the joints of his fingers with a nod. “Yeah – Hershel gave it back to me a couple’a days ago” Narrowing his eyes, Murphy looked over to where his brother was trying to scrape together the last remnants of some nondescript tin’s contents.

“You gave it to him..?”

“Murph’, he’d just had his leg hacked off – I figured he needed all the help he could get”

“And you didn’t? You’re the one who went runnin’ off without-”

“Don’t start that up again…”

“I’m not startin’ anythin’-”

“Like Hell you’re not.”

“I’m fucking not, a’right. I’m just sayin’…” Glancing back up, Connor softened his tone as he went to respond – Murphy had that look about him, a look that told anyone who knew how to read him that he had a lot he wanted to say, but not necessarily the tools in order to say them. Fortunately for him in this respect, Connor could read his brother as fluently as their mother tongue.

“…Aye, I know. Listen, it was the heat of the moment, and it was the right thing-”

“That’s what y’keep sayin’…”

“Because it’s true.”

“Aye. But just because it’s the right thing, that doesn’t mean y’have to do it every time.” Instead of arguing, Connor just straightened up a little, giving Murphy time to get out everything he needed to say.

“…I know we talked about it, y’said you were sorry, an’ I believe you…I just keep thinkin’ about it”

“Thinking about what?” Murphy shot Connor a look, as though he was expecting him to be wearing a mocking smirk, but when he found only sincerity in his brother’s face, he hesitantly continued.

“…So much could’a gone wrong, you could’ve gotten your throat torn out, an’ turned into one’a those things, and I wouldn’t have known until days or weeks later. Days of not sleepin’ and bein’ fuckin’ terrified I’d never see you again, and then maybe I’d run into you, week’s an’ weeks from now, and you’d be comin’ at me wantin’ to rip me apart-”

“Murphy-”

“And if I’m bein’ honest, Connor, I don’t know what fuckin’ gets me more – the thought of puttin’ a bullet between your eyes, or…”

“…Or?”

“…or the fact I’d probably let’cha do whatever the fuck you wanted.”

There was a long stint of silence between the men as they looked at one another, trying to get a read on what the response would be. And while Connor wanted to reprimand him for saying something so stupid, the only thing stopping him was his own realization that not only was Murphy being completely truthful, but also that if the roles were reversed, his answer would be identical. Discarding the tin in his hands, Connor pushed to his feet, clapping Murphy on the arm as he passed him.

“Come on – I’m thinkin’ it’s about time you socialized a little.”

 

***  


When they reached of the bottom of the stairwell, Connor immediately noticed that Hershel’s cell was busy with people, though he only knew the name of the young boy that was helping the old man up from the bed and into a pair of crutches. The reaction from the two women when the twins were noticed was immediate, but subtle – looks were exchanged and a nod from the elder reassured the younger, but Hershel greeting the boys as he would anyone else in the group helped somewhat. Gesturing to the crutches, Connor gave Carl a nod, and then Hershel a smile.

“Up and about already? You sure you’re up for it?”

“Oh, trust me – I’d rather take my chances with these then have to spend another minute staring at the bottom of that bunk”

“Aye, I hear you – hate t’be the bearer of bad news, but the world’s sorta ended while you were outta action” It was a poor joke, but it still got a chuckle out of Hershel, and a shy smile out of the younger, blonde woman. Connor’s first instinct was to hold a hand out for her to shake, but, thinking better of it, instead he gave her a nod.

“Nice to meet you”

“Hi…”

“This is my youngest, Beth.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m Connor, and the sulking one behind me is Murphy.” Shooting his brother a sneer, Murphy caught the eye of the other woman, her expression guarded and uncomfortable. With a glance down to the hand on her swollen stomach, Murphy supposed he could understand why. Not saying a word, he watched as Connor stepped forward, opting to offer her his hand instead. However, before he could repeat the introduction, she pressed a hand to Hershel’s shoulder.

“We should head outside, get you used to moving around again”

There was a few seconds of awkwardness, which Connor diffused by holding his hands up in surrender, letting the four of them leave the cell block before Murphy finally piped up.

“Don’t think she’s into you, man” Giving each other a grin, Connor whacked him playfully in the chest.

“Go fuck yourself.”

  
***  
  


The difference in temperature was staggering – outside the sun was inescapable, beating down in waves with very little breeze to counteract it. Carol, Rick, T Dog and Daryl were already out in the yard when the rest of the group left the cell block. Understandably, seeing Hershel up and moving was cause to smile, though that feeling of relief was quickly overshadowed by the twins’ presence being noticed almost immediately afterwards. Turning his attention from the prisoners to the small group gathered with him, Rick glanced at Maggie as she addressed him.

“What’re we going to do about them..? They can’t stay here, not with us anyway”

“They’re not; we’re helping them clear out another block, they get their share of supplies, and we don’t hear from them again.”

“Well, when are we doing that? I mean, we still need to clear the yard out and burn all the remains, and that’s going to take time. What do we do until then?”

“They’re not a threat” now the attention was on Daryl, who hadn’t quite stopped watched the Irishmen for the time being. “Murphy, the other one – he’s got a temper, but no worse than me or anyone else.”

“That’s not a reason to keep them around. It’s been just us for so long, I don’t know…it’s weird having strangers around.” Replied Maggie, shaking her head.

“They could be useful” said T Dog with a placating shrug. “In my book, Connor’s already proved himself. I say we give ‘em a shot, give them a chance.” Glancing at Carol, Rick gave her a nod.

“What do you think?”

“…I think we shouldn’t decide anything until we know why they were in here in the first place. I mean, Connor…he’s good, he’s okay. Look at what he did for Hershel, but Murphy…I don’t know, there’s something not right about him” A noise of disagreement from Daryl turned the debate towards him once again.

“He’s hot headed, like I said, but they’re both in here for the same reason I’m guessin’ – and there’s no way we can keep one around and not the other.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They’re brothers.” This argument made everyone pause for thought, Merle’s name obviously etched into everyone’s expression, but Daryl quickly continued. “You didn’t see him, when you were getting’ supplies…he was worried, prayin’ and shit…”

“So you think we should trust them?”

“I grew up with guys like that – they’re degenerates, but they’re not psycho’s. If they wanna be part of the group…I say let ‘em prove themselves.” The debate was far from over, but Maggie nodding over Rick’s shoulder brought the discussion to an abrupt halt. It was obvious he’d interrupted something, but Murphy still continued to approach them all, stopping a few feet away.

“…Need some help?”

“We’re good.” Giving the body-littered yard a once over, Murphy raised a brow at Rick.

“The way I see it, you can either let me help and get the job done faster, or you can let me an’ my brother hang around, gettin’ up to God know’s what”

“I told you, we don’t need your help. You want to be locked in your cell, that I can arrange, but-”

“Come on, man – we can be useful, and at the end of the day, I don’t like bein’ around you lot any more than you like bein’ around us. But for now, we’re stuck with each other. I’m tryin’ t’be civil here, because I told my brother I would be. But, you don’t want my help? Fine. Saves me a day’s work anyway.” Taking a few steps backwards, he turned his back on the gathering with an irritated mutter, though he didn’t get far before Rick caught up to him, fixing him with a cold, distrusting look.

“You try anything, anything at all, and you’re dead. Am I understood?” With a glance back at the prison and to where his brother was watching carefully, Murphy swallowed back a retort, and instead forced himself to curtly nod

“Aye. Loud and clear.”

 

 


	13. Severed Ties

Back at the cell blocks, Connor was watching with a triumphant smirk as Murphy joined with the others, splitting off to go with Rick, Glenn and Daryl towards the outskirts of the fence. He’d made him promise to try and make good with the group, even if it was just until they fulfilled their end of the deal. Things were easier when everyone got along, and with the proposition he’d presented to Rick, if all went well they could have a good thing going here. Although not many trusted them, Connor could see these were good people. Maybe, with enough time, they’d be allowed to stay with them, whether or not that meant remaining in the prison.

He was roused from his thoughts when someone approached the table he was sat on, eyes eventually leaving the figures at the edge of the perimeter. It was the kid in the sheriff’s hat, and although he’d left a few feet between them, he seemed far less on edge than some of the adults in the group.

“You’re Connor, right?”

“That’s what they keep tellin’ me” said with a smirk, he gave the boy an upwards nod. “What’s your name, kid?”

“…Carl”

“You’re Rick’s kid?” When he nodded, Connor gave the yard another glance.

“He’s a good one, your old man…how long were you on the road, before you found this place?” Carl shrugged, taking a seat on the bench opposite.

“A while, a few weeks – we were on Hershel’s farm, but that-”

“Carl.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize that the other woman from before was Carl’s mother, and by default, ‘the wife’ Connor had heard Rick mention beforehand.

“We were just-”

“Go see if Hershel needs any help.” Both Carl and Connor looked round to where Hershel was pacing himself, Beth at his side with a hand secured on his shoulder, ready to catch him if he stumbled or fell.

“He looks like he’s doin’ fine to me” The look Connor got for that was one he used to get from his own mother, way back when. “I’m jus’ sayin’-”

“Carl, go. Now.” With an audible exhale of defeat, the kid got to his feet, heading away from where his mother and the inmate were about to have a necessary, but tense, exchange.

“It’s Lori, right?”

“You don’t talk to him, you don’t go near him – do you hear me?”

“Listen, love – we were jus’ talkin’. And for the record, he came over to me.”

“I don’t care – he talks to you, you walk away. But if I see you near my son again-”

“Alright, alright – look, the last thing I want is to tread on toes. Trust me, I don’t want this to go south any more than you do. I… _we_ don’t want trouble, and we’ve got no intention of hurting any of you”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word as gospel.” She replied in a tone that told Connor there was little point in arguing with her. After a second or so of silence, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone, preferably to think over what she said, maybe to rethink the proposition he’d given her husband a few days before, assuming he’d even shared it with the others. Nodding at Maggie as she made her way up towards the cell blocks, he smirked to himself as she tactfully pretended she hadn’t noticed him, passing the tables without even a glance. Fiddling with the beads of his rosary, he turned his attention back to the yard; he couldn’t work out what it was Murphy was helping Rick with, but if he could manage to break the ice with him without getting himself shot, Connor was keeping his fingers crossed that maybe his plan could work.

 

/////

 

“I have questions for you”

“I’m happy for you.”

“I asked your brother this already-”

“Then why the fuck are you asking me as well? Connor can speak for both of us, more or less.”

“What did you do to get put in this place?” Giving Rick a guarded look, Murphy thought about his answer carefully.

“Answer me.”

“The fuck does it matter now..? We’re all in it up to our necks here, what we did or didn’t do doesn’t affect anythin’ now.”

“Yes, it does – it affects whether or not we consider your proposition” His brows creased together as Murphy slowed to a stop.

“What proposition..?”

Gunshots from the cell blocks startled a tree full of birds into flight, and made all four men stop in their tracks, though they didn’t need the fourth and fifth shots fired to make them all bolt back down the pathway. He should have stayed with Glenn, helped him secure the fence again, but even Murphy could see that nowadays his conscience was rapidly becoming outweighed by the instinct to stay alive, and by default, make sure Connor did the same. It was typical; he’d barely left his side for the past few days, and the one time he did, zombies, walkers – whatever the fuck they were called -made yet another appearance. Every second that they were stopped waiting for Glenn to throw them the keys to open the gates was a second too long. Once the first gate was open, Murphy and Rick was closely matched in who made it to the second one first.

“Give me my gun!”

“Not now”

“Not- are you fucking kidding me? Give me my fucking gun, now!”

The second gate was open, and before Murphy could wrestle his weapon away from Rick, he found himself having to sprint once again, the fence leading to the cell blocks looming closer and closer, the feel of his pulse pounding in his ears drowning out Rick yelling for his wife, or the sound of heavy boots hitting the dirt. Only when they were close to where the rest of the group were did he try shouting for Connor, again and again, and yet nothing.

 

///

 

T Dog was bitten in minutes, though Connor didn’t see him go down. Without a weapon, he couldn’t do much but make sure he got himself – and anyone else he could – inside and out of harm’s way. A walker collapsed a foot or so behind him, though it wasn’t until they were behind the barred door to the steps that he turned to Carl quickly, giving him a brief nod.

“Thanks, kid”

“No problem – come on, we need to move”

As it turned out, only Carl, Lori and Maggie had made it into this part of the cells with him. He had to assume that Hershel and the others had gotten themselves to safety as well – there hadn’t been time to check. At first they tried going straight back into block C, but were cut short by another set of walkers, the darkened corridors suddenly their only place to run. This had been the route he’d taken on his way back to get Hershel the medical supplies he needed, and even now Connor could remember how each walker had gone down. The air was still thick with death and cold rot, still heavy with the groans of the undead and the creeping feeling of claustrophobia never quite leaving your bones.  
  
They passed corpse after corpse, rounded a corner or two before Lori suddenly had to stop, one hand pressed to the wall, the other clasped desperately to her belly. Looking from her to the end of the corridor, Connor addressed all and none of them in particular.

“We can’t stay here, we need to keep going”

“Mom?”

“Lori, are you okay?”

Shaking her head, she turned to Maggie with wide, panicked eyes.

“No…no, I…I think the baby’s coming”


	14. Trust and bloodshed

By the time they’d reached the area outside the cell blocks, the rest of the group had presumably already gotten themselves inside. Regardless, Murphy still checked, scanning the yard and all the bodies in between. He hadn’t seen Connor get to safety, and though he didn’t doubt his ability to look out for himself, neither of them were armed – that didn’t bode well for a convict in a group of people who didn’t trust or even like them. As he took down another walker, Rick turned his attention to where the herd had come from, looking to Murphy as his words were practically spat out of his mouth.

“How did they get in?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know”

“That gate was _locked,_ someone had to have opened it-”

“I’ve been here the whole time, asshole – quit accusin’ me and give me my damned gun-”

The latest in what would likely be a long series of arguments between the sheriff and the prisoner was cut short by the sudden call of the alarm system, speakers stationed at the corners of each building broadcasting the noise, and therefore, their position to every infected person within a good few miles. Glenn wasted no time in running to one corner, shooting out one of the speakers with Rick following suit, but it didn’t help much.

“How the hell can this be happening-?!” Once again, the heat was on Murphy, with Rick coming at him with twice the tenacity as before. “How are they still being powered?”

“There’s, ah…back-up generators, three of ‘em – each one controls a different part of the prison”

“Can you turn them off?”

“Connor was the one who worked in the generator room, but I know where it is”

“Show us. _Now._ ”

 

  
  
  
“In here – come on!”

With seconds to spare, the four of them managed to get into a side room without the walkers noticing where they went. Listening by the door, Connor only left it unattended once he could no longer here anything in the corridor on the other side, although the situation of their side of the door presented a far more worrying issue. Lori was bracing herself against the wall, biting back the urge to cry out as another contraction ripped through her. Hushed words were exchanged between her and Maggie, and Connor found himself both turning away, and hoping that this wouldn’t end bloody. While the basics of childbirth weren’t lost on him, the reality of it was not something he was either prepared for or a field he knew the first thing about – then again, even if he was the world’s best and brightest Doctor, he doubted she’d want him anywhere near her. Carl was beckoned over a minute later, and he heard Maggie say something along the lines of; “You’re gonna have to help deliver your baby brother or sister…” Again, not something he imagined Carl would be much help in, but desperate times called for it he supposed. However, the following words made him glance over, a pin drop of dread falling down his throat.

“Wait, wait – Lori, don’t push, something’s wrong”

  
  
The others hadn’t been so lucky as to escape the notice of walkers; practically skidding round the corner and into the generator room, they barely managed to get the door closed before the infected began pounding against it. It took both Daryl and Murphy throwing their weight against the cool metal to keep them out, if only for a few seconds – it wasn’t long before Rick was yelling for help that Murphy couldn’t give him, not for lack of trying, but simply for lack of knowledge. He hadn’t the first idea about what did what in this room, but still, he waited for Daryl to give him the nod that he’d keep the door secure before he crossed the room.

It wasn’t clear who saw the axe first, but the familiar flash of blue gave away the fact that the owner was a prisoner. A young man - younger than Murphy by a few years anyway – went straight for Rick, pinning him against a large piece of equipment, though their strength wasn’t quite as equal as perhaps he’d first guessed, because the next few times someone was thrown against something, it was the convict on the receiving end of the weapon’s handle.

It all happened pretty quickly; Rick got hit in the side of the face, staggering back as the convict found his feet, apparently seeing his opponent’s gun in enough  time to send it flying out of Rick’s hands and sprawling across the floor. The next time the two men were on their feet, both were staring down the barrel of the gun, both looking to Murphy to spare them, to make the right choice. Taking a tentative step forward, the convict was the first to try his luck.

“Come on man, shoot him!”

Murphy didn’t know him, didn’t remember ever meeting him before this moment, not that he would have; separate races tended to stay within their own circles behind bars, and yet, here he was, being treated like an acquaintance by someone who’d likely stab him in the back if this was any other day.

“We can take back this prison, this is our house, we can-”

With an ungraceful thud, he collapsed to the floor like a broken mannequin, and for a long few moments, the air was tense and unsure. With a glance to the right, Murphy saw Daryl had moved from the door, posed to go for him should he try anything. Without a word, he spun the weapon round between his fingers, and handed it back to Rick with a nod. Getting one in return, he stayed put as the older man moved back to the generator, pressing some buttons and pushing levers, the power eventually dying and the droning wail of the alarms fading out to nothing.

 

 

When Connor next looked over from his place by the steps, Lori was being eased onto her back, speaking to a wide-eyed Maggie with the calm authority of a parent who knows better than to let their fear show. Carl had taken his place by his mother’s side, clutching her hand in both of his.

“Mom, come on – talk to me, keep your eyes open”

“Lori, there’s all this blood, I don’t even think you’re fully dilated yet – no amount of pushing is gonna help”

“…I know what it means, and I’m not losing my baby…You’ve gotta cut me open”

Across the room, Connor just closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be here, not for this – he should have been getting help, doing something…but there wasn’t time. By the time he’d even made it back to the cells and told the others what was going on, Lori would have been long gone. It was a cruel, heavy feeling of hopelessness, and it was one he knew would weigh on him for a long time after this was over. The only thing he could do was feel for the wooden cross beneath his shirt and pull it over his head, keep himself to himself, and hope that it was over quickly, for Lori’s sake as well as Carl and Maggie’s. Part of him wished Murphy was here, and part of him was happy he wasn’t – or rather, he wished neither of them were here at all.

“No – no way, I can’t-”

“You don’t have a choice…”

“Dad taught me some things, some of the steps…”

Hurriedly getting to his feet, Carl was at the steps in a second, ready to race out of the door to get help, but a strong hand on his arm stopped him.

“Let me go!”

“Carl don’t you dare.” Both Connor and the boy looked up when he was called back, but he didn’t move to go back for a few moments, as though he was scared that his presence at her side would sway the odds out of her favour. For the second time since the group came to the prison, Connor found himself pressing the loop of wooden beads into the hands of a stranger.

“Y’need to be with her.”

“I don’t want these-”

“I know. But she might.”

Tugging himself loose, the kid took a step back, looking from the Irishman to the cross in his palm as he crossed the room, falling to his knees at Lori’s side. Taking his place on the top step once again, Connor found he couldn’t watch the scene that unfolded shortly after – not only because he felt it wasn’t his place to even be there at all, but because of the thickness that was forming in his chest as Lori gave her final words to her son. He was a full grown man, a man who had killed and seen his share of unpleasant things, even partaken in a few of them. And yet this incident had his heart breaking, his face flushing with emotion that he point-blank refused to let out. It wouldn’t help any, and it wasn’t his place to be getting upset; he wasn’t the son watching his mum die, he wasn’t the one actively cutting her open. He was just a convict, a stranger. Her cries of agony didn’t last long, though it was a good few minutes before they were replaced by the wails of the child she’d been carrying.

  
  
  
  
The corridors, whilst almost pitch dark, were relatively empty of walkers. Now armed with the axe from before, Murphy felt far more secure as they moved through the hallways, putting down one or two infected before Glenn managed to find them. He didn’t much like the look of seeing a prisoner with a large weapon, but if he had a problem with it, he was smart enough not to say anything then and there, instead just giving Rick a nod before they continued towards one of the doors that would lead them to the yard.

Once outside, Hershel and Beth called them over, faces pale with concern.

“Hershel! Have you found them, did you see them?”

“No, we haven’t – but that doesn’t mean we won’t”

“Alright, okay – we need to go back inside, we need-”

There are sounds that you get so used to hearing in everyday life that, once you haven’t been exposed to them for months, or even weeks, once you hear them again, they’re nearly alien to you. In this case, words fell short in exchange for the sound of a crying baby, silencing everyone as it got closer and closer. Maggie was the first to emerge from one of the doorways, arms coated in blood and wrapped protectively around the wailing bundle. However, when Connor came out shortly after Carl, the axe hit the tarmac as Murphy ran at him, hugging him briefly but tightly.

“The fuck is wrong with you, eh? Runnin’ off again, y’should’a waited for me or somethin’…startin’ t’think you don’t wanna be around me anymore” He was joking this time around, clapping his twin on the shoulder as he tried to make him smile with him. But, while he knew Connor was relieved they were both alright, he didn’t look it himself. He couldn’t get a read on the look his brother was giving him; following his eye line back to the emotional scene behind them didn’t help much either. Lowering his voice, he tried again, this time completely serious.

“The fuck happened…?”


	15. Blame Game

It took three people to pull Rick off of Connor.

He’d done the math, seen his new-born baby, seen the look of numbness across his sons face and the amount of blood that had soaked through Maggie’s clothes, and hadn’t found Lori anywhere behind them. After the initial shock had sunk in, he’d turned to the only other person who had been with them, and the prison overalls had meant that in his mind, somehow the man wearing them had been responsible. It wasn’t logical, and somewhere in his mind Rick knew that. But there was no way Lori was gone – no way. That’s not how it was supposed to go, none of this was supposed to happen. Hershel wasn’t supposed to get hurt and lose his leg, and Lori was not meant to be gone. And the only farfetched connection his grief stricken mind could make as he grabbed the Irishman and practically threw him against the closest wall was that ‘he was there’. He was there both times, this was his fault.

Glenn was the first to try and help Murphy separate the two men, but Rick was like a man possessed. Whenever someone grabbed at an arm he’d violently yank it away, send small amounts of blood flying in odd directions. They were on the floor now, with Connor at the receiving end of punch after punch, hit after hit. With his arms pinned he could only take the blows as they came until finally it came to a stop. Letting his brother help him up, he gingerly wiped the back of his hand under his nose, which was now streaming with thick, dark blood. Rick hadn’t tried to get back up, and Glenn and Daryl weren’t restraining him. The cries coming from him didn’t sound human, just an animalistic wailing which resonated around the quiet of the prison yard. No one knew what to say or what to do, none wanted to attempt to comfort their leader, not right now. Connor only looked away when Murphy touched his arm, and wordlessly urged him to follow him back inside. He caught Maggie’s eye briefly, but she only looked away as she found the crook of Glenn’s neck, the baby girl held tightly in her arms.

Inside, Connor silently made his way to sit on the stairs leading to their cell while Murphy foraged in the supply bags for some kind of antiseptic, or something close to it. Rick had messed Connor’s face up pretty well, and while they’d both been in their share of playground beatings and bar room brawls, it didn’t change the fact that it hurt like a bitch for a good day or two after. Settling for a bottle of water and a clean rag, Murphy took his place next to his brother, opening the bottle and wetting the cloth.

“You really gonna try an’ play nurse..?” The comment itself lacked its normal, teasing tone, and only got half a smile from the other twin.

“Aye, I’ll do me best” For a little while, the boys sat in silence as Murphy cleaned the blood from his brother’s face, dabbing the wounds as gently as he could. His left side had taken the brunt of the beating, and a small part of him couldn’t wait to see how bad Connor’s black eye would be tomorrow. Occasionally, Connor would cringe back from his brother’s touch, to which Murphy would just roll his eyes.

“Quit bein’ such a baby…” after a pause, he glanced up from the bottle. “…What was that about?”

“Hm?”

“Just now – what was it about? Why’d he lay into you?”

“…No reason. It’s nothin’.”

“You’re really gonna sit there and lie to my face? What the fuck’s going on?”

“I told you, nothin’”

“Bullshit. Just talk to me, Conn’ - tell me what happened back there. Couldn’t’a been that bad, could it?”  Immediately, Murphy saw a kind of tenseness come over the other, his jaw tightening ever so subtly as he averted his eyes. Then his expression fell a little, his tone dropping down to a mutter. “…Y’weren’t bitten or anythin’? Because if that’s it I swear to God-” When the only response he got was Connor gingerly rubbing a hand over his face and turning away, the rise of panic only worsened as Murphy grabbed the front of his brother’s shirt, tugging him round to face him again as his eyes went to both of Connor’s arms, then his neck, hurriedly checking for bite wounds that he might have somehow missed before.

“Fuckin’ tell me that’s not it, Connor – tell me, or I’ll-”

“No, no – it’s nothin’ like that, I’m alright, I’m fine” There was a brief moment where Murphy seemed to be reading him for any sign of a lie, but once he was satisfied, the sigh of relief that followed was a heavy one.

“Okay...alright, that’s good – and fuck you for lettin’ me think that, too.”

“Sorry…”

“Aye, I know y’fuckin’ are…so?”

After another expectant nod from his brother, eventually Connor filled him in on what had happened after the walkers had gotten into the yard. Resting his elbows on his knees, he slowly pushed his fingernails through his hair as he explained how useless he’d felt, as though he’d just let it happen, and how he knew how ridiculous it was to feel so emotionally heavy about something he couldn’t control. Murphy just listened dutifully, cautiously resuming the clean-up job on his brother’s face as he told him everything that was on his mind.

“…He was there the whole time, right there with her”

“Who?”

“Carl – the kid with the hat”

“Look…There wasn’t anythin’ y’could’ve done, Connor. Y’need to let it go”

“Easy for you to say – you weren’t there.”

“Aye, I know – but even if I had been, there wouldn’t have been anythin’ we could have done, and you know it.” Right then, Murphy noticed something, and moved the collar of Connor’s prison uniform aside.

“Where’s y’rosary..? You take it off?”

“No – I gave it to Carl…figured Lori might’a wanted it, or he might’ve-”

“Christ, you should start keepin’ a list of all the strangers you’re lendin’ it out to”

“They’re not strangers, Murph’, not anymore anyway. If this is gonna work out best for us, we need to stop thinkin’ of them like that”

“Aye, I’ll do that – once they stop lookin’ at me like I just burned down their clubhouse.”

“Fair enough…” For a little while both men just sat in quiet. Murphy finished cleaning his twin’s injuries, and teasingly held the bottle of water just out of his reach before taking a long drink from it himself. Though the small amount of humour they’d summoned was quickly snuffed out by the sound of the rest of the group heading inside. Without another thought, Connor clapped his brother on the chest with the back of his hand and nodded up towards their cell, to which Murphy quietly agreed, following Connor up the stairs and out of sight as the others headed further in in a deathly silent procession. With another glance toward the stairs, just then Murphy was reminded of something Rick had mentioned earlier that day. Passing Connor the water, he leaned on the bed frame, picking at the skin around his thumb as he switched out of English, for safe measure.

“Hey…Can I ask you somethin’?” A rhetorical question, they both knew. “Rick said somethin’ earlier, about some ‘proposition’ or some shit like that – you know what he’s talkin’ about?”

With a thoughtful swallow, Connor nodded.

“Aye…I meant to talk to you about it.”

“Talk to me about what? What’s he on about?”

“…When I was showin’ them where the food was, I told Rick…I thought that maybe we could join their group”

Frowning his usual frown, one normally found on a child who doesn’t understand something, and doesn’t enjoy the feeling of stupidity that often comes with it, Murphy shot another look outside of the cell before stepping in front of his brother.

“You what…?”

“Murph’…”

“Y’didn’t think it was important to tell me somethin’ like that? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, y’could’ve maybe run that by me?”

“For fucks sake, calm down. It’s a good plan, Murphy. Safety in numbers and all that shit”

“I see your point, I do. But why them?”  
  
“Why not them? Murph’, we’re in prison jumpsuits with giant fuckin’ neon arrows over our heads that spell out ‘do not trust these assholes, they kill people!’ – we’re pretty fuckin’ lucky this lot haven’t evicted us already, and don’t you forget that.”

“Don’t fuckin’ patronise me, Connor.”

“Then stop actin’ like a stroppy child.”

“Oh fuck you – it’s me and you, that’s how it’s always been! We don’t them”

“Yeah, actually, we do. We need numbers, we need a group, and whether you like it or not, I’ve picked this one.”

“So I get no say at all.”

“I’m doing this for us, Murphy, for you. T’help keep us both safe. How can you not see that?”

 


	16. Murphy's law

Tensions ran high for what felt like weeks after that. It was deep, and no one spoke about it, but it hung heavy in the air, similar to the weight that Connor carried with him like a bad omen. Despite his knowing better, knowing that he couldn’t have done anything different, the feeling of being responsible, of not having done enough left him with only a few hours of sleep as the reprieve from the troubled hours of daylight. They hadn’t discussed the possibility of joining the group further, though Connor wasn’t sure that would even be a feasible option anymore. Rick would be a mess for a long time – or at least, he couldn’t blame him if he was. And while Murphy was still alive, they’d had enough close calls to make even the thought of losing someone that close to him unimaginable.

Murphy quickly noticed the change in his brother, and while they’d talked about what was on his mind, he never knew what he could say to make much of a difference. He didn’t like talking about his own feelings, so when it came to other people’s most of the time he was grasping at straws, trying to be helpful or comforting but usually sounding like a total moron. He let Connor get out whatever he wanted to say and didn’t push him to say anymore. That was just how they worked.

Two days had passed since the incident with Lori, and their presence amongst the group had only become more of a black cloud, though Murphy couldn’t feel too terrible; they were here first, it was that lot who were intruding. And yet, they were the ones being put in second place. Fuck it – Connor could do the empathising for the both of them, Murphy had no time for it. Perhaps if it had been any other situation, if the world hadn’t gone to shit, he’d be more understanding. But this wasn’t a world that could be understood, let alone the people who had been left behind in it. Sure, he felt bad for them – they had kids. They’d obviously been through a lot of shit on the road, back at the farm or wherever it was. But that wasn’t Murphy’s problem. Everyone had seen and done things they wished they hadn’t, these people weren’t special or different. His responsibilities now had narrowed down to keeping himself and his brother alive, and making sure they weren’t forced out of the one place where they had guaranteed food and shelter for the time being. And while he could see how having that responsibility multiplied by nine or ten would take its toll, still, not his problem. If Connor could hear these thoughts he’d have the sense knocked out of him, easily. But this wasn’t a world that had much room for sentiment.

It was early when he’d decided to go for a wander – early enough that no one else was awake yet, and the sun had only just begun to rise. But he couldn’t sleep, and he was fidgety and restless, and although that usually didn’t stop him from tossing and turning and pissing off his brother, this morning he felt like he needed to be outside, to move and get the blood flowing.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk he cracked his neck to the side, going for his gun when he noticed Connor was looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Goin’ somewhere?” He whispered, voice hoarse.

“Aye – thought I’d break outta here, go find a hotel.” He replied in kind, happy to see Connor smirk at his answer.

“Jus’ goin’ out for a bit…couldn’t sleep. Wanna come?”

Connor just shook his head, gesturing lazily to one of the weapons on the side.

“Take mine – s’got more rounds in it.”

“I’m goin’ into the yard, not war.”

“Jus’ take the fuckin’ gun, Murph’, Jesus.”

This answer had a bit more snap to it, so Murphy took it with a pinch of salt as he did as his brother requested, shooting him a smirk as Connor turned over, going back to sleep.

Outside it was strangely cold – a refreshing change to the stinking hot daylight hours, yet he couldn’t keep from shivering a little as he acclimatised. Christ, he could go for a cigarette right now. It’d been so long since either of them had had one – man, he remembered how badly they’d both craved smokes when they’d first taken the cell block for themselves. They’d both been catty as fuck towards one another if their conversation turned into one of their many petty arguments. And occasionally, if one was woken up early enough, a little of that short-fused impatience still shone through.

The yard looked so big now, now that it wasn’t filled with inmates or walkers. Now that it was just Murphy wandering across it, arms being stretched above his head and lungs filling with fresh, chilled air. The sky was just a vast tundra of misery and grey, the landscape beneath it drenched in death and stagnation. It felt as though the prison was the only place still harbouring life and that the rest of the world had just…ceased.

It was then that Murphy stopped, something Connor had told him and something that Rick had brought to his attention as well. The gate towards the back of the blocks, the one that had always been locked had somehow been opened the day before last, the gate that had let the horde through. Looking from the fence toward the direction of the gate, Murphy made his way over, taking the safety off of his weapon as he went. It was completely quiet, almost perfect silence save for the heavy footfalls from his boots. No groans from the undead, not even a bird in the tree’s around them. Presumably the chirping bastards took the hint long ago and fucked off to Europe or wherever. There had to be somewhere in the world that was still untouched by whatever the hell this virus was, this infection…then again, compared to the rest of the group, Connor and Murphy knew so little that even that small hope was more than likely naïve. It had only been when Rick had told them that there was no army or government that they’d had to re-evaluate their entire plan. Not that they really had one at all.

He didn’t find any walkers – piles of bodies, yes, but nothing up and moving. Though when he got closer to the chain link, the first thing he noticed was the chain and padlock was no longer attached. Sitting on the ground a few inches in on the other side, it was obvious as Murphy crouched down to pick it up and examine it that it had been tampered with on purpose – severed with cutters, or something like it. He was no detective, and to be honest he wasn’t sure what else he should have been looking for, but it was pretty obvious that it had been done by someone in an attempt to whittle down the numbers in this particular cell block. He knew it wasn’t him, he knew it wasn’t Connor, and while he didn’t like most of them, Murphy could tell none of the group were responsible either. That left other, remaining inmates, and while that was a rather obvious solution to reach, it didn’t set him at ease any better.

 

 


	17. The best laid plans of twins and men

He heard one of the doors to the cell block open, but didn’t look round or respond to the person approaching him until they were a few feet away.

“Find your hotel alright?”

Pushing himself up, Murphy waved the broken chain to the side as he turned to face his brother.

“Aye – wasn’t as fancy as this place though, so I figured I’d come back…You look like shit”

“Look better than you on a good day.”

Giving him half a smirk, he chucked the padlock and chain to him. “Thought you were sleepin’”

“Nah…wasn’t sleepin’ well last night, no point in stayin’ in bed. What’s this for..?”

“S’what was keepin’ that locked.” Murphy gestured to the gate as he spoke, Connor following where he was pointing, and frowning a moment later.

“What’s your point..? It’s broken, needs fixin’?”

“No, look at it – s’been cut, on purpose. Someone broke it, opened the gate, let the infected from the other block in. Tha’s where they all came from the other day.”

As the pieces clicked into place, Connor looked from Murphy to the lock in his hand, glancing up once or twice towards the fencing a few feet away. After a pause he nodded to the side, silently telling Murphy to walk with him.

“You know it’s either one of them or some other prisoners”

“Aye…s’what I thought.”

“Should we tell ‘em?”

“Rick already knows – well, more or less. He thought it was me who opened it when everythin’ was goin’ to shit, so he knows it’s been fucked with anyway. But you know, Conn’ – they’re not gonna believe it wasn’t one of us.”

Connor just let out a long, lingering breath, passing the chain to his left hand as he attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes with the other, although the nights of not sleeping were beginning to take their toll. He couldn’t think clearly, and this new situation wasn’t helping that any. As much as he hated to entertain the thought, they both needed to start planning for the possibility that they may have to leave the prison; that wasn’t what either wanted, but taking recent events into account, Connor couldn’t see the group being any more willing to help them then they had before. They weren’t well liked, and now with their leader in mourning, their end of the deal had been pushed to the backburner. He knew Hershel was a good man, and while he held some weight with Rick, Connor didn’t put much faith in his ability to talk Rick into holding up his end of the deal.

Evidently he’d been zoning out into his own thoughts, because a moment later, Murphy was whacking him half-heartedly on the arm with the back of his hand.

“Connor!”  
  
“What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re losin’ it already? I’m tryin’ to talk to you”

“Sorry, Murph’…what were y’sayin’?”

“Fuckin’ hell – I was sayin’ that they’re gonna try t’pin this on one of us, or both. An’ if they do there’s not a lot we can do to change their minds.”

“There won’t be anythin’ we can do. Which means we have two options, if that happens; stay here and wait for them to come round. Or we leave.”

As predicted, neither of those choices sat well with Murphy, whose protests rained on fatigued ears. When Connor began to look like he was spacing out again, Murphy abruptly stepped in front of him, forcing him to snap out of it and listen.

“Y’nearly died for that old bastard in there, y’did what you promised – they’re gonna fuckin’ deliver on their end, there’s no debate there”

“It’s not that simple and you know it”

“How’s it not that fuckin’ simple? Sounds pretty damn simple to me, you’re makin’ it more complicated than it has to be!”

“Fuckin’ _listen_ to me, Murphy. They lost people, more than Rick’s wife. They’re not gonna be in the mood to bend over backwards to make fuckin’ inmates happy right now. And now with this aswell?” Thrusting the padlock and chain out, Murphy grabbed it out of his hand defensively, to which Connor just shook his head.

“They’ve got no reason to trust us, and there’s nothin’ stoppin’ them from using their numbers to their advantage. I get why you’re angry, I get it, y’know I do. And I know we’ve risked a lot, but in case y’haven’t noticed the world ain’t too fair as of the fuckin’ apocalypse happenin’-”

“Oh fuck off, Connor – I don’t need you patronisin’ me to get your point across”

“We need to be ready to leave.” Connor cut in, his tone not leaving room for much more argument. “Either we go of our own accord, they force us out, or they just kill us. No skin off their back either way. If it comes to that and we have to go, I’ll make sure we leave with supplies – that I won’t negotiate on. But I need y’with me on this, Murph’. I need you onboard, alright?”

And it seemed as though he really was. He looked angry, frustrated, everything Connor was feeling. But he still glanced up at him from the lock in his hands and nodded as Connor landed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if it feels like I’m bein’ patronisin’ or whatever you’ve got your panties in a bunch over, but I need you know you get it, that we’re on the same page.”

“…Aye, I know. But the road…if they don’t give us a car..? Then what? There’s nothin’ for miles, you know that”

“We’ll work somethin’ out, we always do. But whatever happens, you know…we’ll be alright. That’s worst case scenario, but if they really don’t see clearin’ out a cell block as an option, I’ll _politely_ make them give us guns, ammo, food…a car would be good, but I wouldn’t get y’hope’s up.”

“Doubt we’ll be that lucky.”

As they approached one of the benches Murphy stepped ahead, putting his foot on it and retying his laces as Connor took a seat at the end, resting his head in his hand as a heavy yawned shuddered through him.

“Y’should go back to bed. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you look like shit.”

“No point…they’ll all be wakin’ up soon, and I wouldn’t be able to regardless. I’m fine, stop worryin’.”

“Aye, I’ll stop worryin’ when you do. Seriously, Connor – can I do anythin’?..Y’wanna talk some more or…?”

“Well, Dr Phil – I’m quite concerned about my prick of a _younger_ brother-”

“Oh, fuck off will you”

 

 


	18. Negotiations

Not much time passed between the news of the tampered gate lock being brought to Rick and the others and an argument breaking out. Glenn got involved, and Hershel soon, after, and soon it was Connor and Murphy fighting a rapidly losing battle. While Connor usually would have taken Rick to the side, spoken to him as the leader of the group, this time he ended up addressing the group as a whole. As predicted, the news wasn’t taken well, nor were they looked at with any less disdain or distrust. Turning his focus to Murphy, Rick gestured to the chain and lock, and while his voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone, his tone dictated that their minds were already made up as to what the Irish men’s fates would be.

“You say you just found that out there?”

“That’s what I said. Need t’hear it a third time?”

“And you’re expecting us to believe it wasn’t either of you?”

“Aye. Because it wasn’t.”

“Rick – we know how this looks, but we were both with someone here when the gate was opened” Connor interjected, trying to remain the mediator in the situation. “You’ve had someone keep an eye on us, it’d be obvious if one of us snuck off somewhere. You know this wasn’t us-”

“No – No, I don’t _know –_ I don’t know anything about either of you, and that’s the problem” Taking a few steps closer to Connor, Rick brought his voice down to a venomous murmur.

“You said you’d tell me what it was that put you both in here”

“And your end of the deal was that we’d have a cleared out cell block by now.”

Murphy just gave Rick a scowl in reply to his final-warning glare. After a long two minutes of silence, the sheriff looked to Hershel before speaking again.

“…We need to think this over, but before then, you-” Pointing to Connor, “We need to talk. Alone.”

Nodding, Connor let Rick have the head start, turning to his brother and quickly noting the look on his face.

“S’gonna be fine.”

“You don’t know that. And you know, I wouldn’t mind bein’ a part of your little conversations either. This is about both of us, not just you.”

“…Aye. I know.” With a glance towards the doorway in which Rick was impatiently waiting for him, Connor gave Murphy a nod.

“Come on.”

“I said ‘alone’.”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say to the two of us.”

Passing the rest of the group, neither of them needed to look up to know what they were all thinking; all hoping that Rick would nip it in the bud and tell them to leave. Just get rid of them, then they could all rest easy knowing that, until more made themselves known, they wouldn’t have to deal with any more prisoners. Because if you only started killing people _after_ a viral pandemic hits, you’re exempt from the label of ‘murderer’.

Once they were out of hearing range of the others, Rick rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“The deal, what we said before; it’s not going to work out.”

“Oh bull _shit_ it’s not-”

“Murph’-”

“No no, fuck you, man. Fuck all of you – we haven’t done anythin’ and you’re tellin’ us we’ve gotta leave?”

“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know who opened that gate, but I do know it wasn’t any of my people. And I know you’ve never liked us being here.” This was all being aimed at Murphy now, and Connor was rapidly trying to think of ways to salvage this quickly dissolving situation.

“That’d give anyone with a temper like yours reason to try and get rid of us.”

“I was with you when the fuckin’ gate opened! And you’re damn right I don’t like you – you and your ‘people’ come waltzin’ in here, thinkin’ you own the fuckin’ place when we were here first-”

“Because you were _in jail –_ and if you have any hope of changing my mind, you’re going to tell me why exactly that was. Now.”

“Why the fuck does it matter? We’ve proved ourselves – Connor saved that old man, I saved your ass back in the damned generator room. We deserve to be here more than any’a you!”

“Even if that’s true, you’re reckless, dangerous-”

“And how the fuck do you figure that?”

“You told me, threatened me when we first got here. Told me if your brother didn’t make it back, you’d show us what you did to get sent here.”

Murphy didn’t need to look at Connor to see his eyes close momentarily as he pushed both his hands through his hair in exasperation.

“You don’t make a threat like that unless you did something violent. And maybe it doesn’t matter what you did before – but from what I’ve seen of the two of you? If push came to shove, your brother, maybe he could stay around – but you? You’re everything this group doesn’t need.”

That got a reaction from both twins now, Murphy going to round on Rick, and Connor stepping up to hold him back.

“That’s not happening.”

“Fine. You stay and he leaves, or you both go. I don’t care. But you’re not staying in this prison another day.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’-”

“Murphy, shut the fuck up. Rick, I get what you’re sayin’, I do. But I delivered on our deal. I held up my end…You’re grievin’, I know that, and I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.”

“Y’don’t have to clear out a block for us. We’ll go, both of us. But you need to let us get some supplies together, weapons, water, food, a car-”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’ve got more than one, and we won’t be able to carry everythin’ between the two of us-”

“Then don’t take as much.”

“I know you’re at your wits end, but I’m doin’ what you want. I’m bein’ pretty fuckin’ civil given the circumstances. You hold up your end by givin’ us our share of the food and a car, and we’re out of here in the hour. Y’never see us again.”

The entire situation had Murphy fuming, but the worst part of it was knowing that these assholes were going to get the best out of the entire deal without doing anything to earn it. He didn’t understand why Connor didn’t fight their corner more, fight for himself – had it not been for him, Hershel would have died of his injury days ago. Had it not been for him, they wouldn’t have had medicine at all. And yet he was negotiating their leaving one of the most secure places they could hope to find themselves in order to keep these people happy. Perhaps this was just something they’d never see eye to eye on, or maybe Connor was as frustrated about it as Murphy was. But soon enough, they were headed back outside at Murphy’s request, though they were barely out of the doors before Murphy was giving his brother a hard shove.

“Well way to fuckin’ go, genius-”

Raising his voice, Connor shoved him straight back. “Don’t- fuckin’ push me! I did what I had to!”

“Oh aye, y’sent us out into fuckin’ no man’s land. Well done, seriously. Give me a minute to give you Goddamned round of applause!”

“You’re such a fuckin’ _moron,_ Murphy – I mean it, how Ma didn’t do the world a fuckin’ favour and drown you in infancy is beyond me! We’ve got a car now, food – more guns! But of course, because everythin’ didn’t go how you wanted it, it’s all gonna go to shit and it’s all my fault. Well I didn’t see you makin’ much headway in there! Jesus – what the fuck does it matter where we are? We’ll find somewhere else-”

“There isn’t anything else, not like this! This has fences, walls, it’s secure! This was a good thing we had and you’re just lettin’ it slip away!”

“You think I want this? You think I wanna put us both at more risk out there? Well I don’t – I wanna stay here, and ideally I’d wanna actually get on with the people in there. I’d wanna make a go of it-”

“Then why don’t you!” Murphy spat. “Emperor Rick already fuckin’ loves you, you’ve already given your fucking _rosary_ out to ‘em. Like it’s nothin’. So why don’t you stay, and live out your happy little white-picket fantasy, and I’ll fuck off and do my own thing, maybe do the world a favour and get myself killed, aye? How’s that sound?”

 

 


	19. Bon Voyage

It was still early in the day, but it was already starting to get hot. It was the humidity that Murphy hated the most, and despite being all but used to it by now, it still made him think of Boston. Sure, it was the opposite end of the scale, but at that moment in time being too cold was preferable to the heat of Atlanta. The weapons had been checked over and the food packed away, and by the time the boot of the car was being slammed shut, Murphy was soon sat in the driver’s seat, tapping impatiently on the wheel as he waited for Connor. They hadn’t said anything to one another in the hour that they’d been preparing to leave, and while Murphy would likely stay mad for a while yet, they’d be on speaking terms before the day was out. That’s just how it worked with them. With a glance to the rear view mirror, when he saw his brother speaking to Hershel and taking an armful of something or other from him, he had to restrain himself from hitting the horn and making him hurry up - this was his plan, and while Murphy didn’t like it, he’d rather they just got it going and leave the group to their own devices. Where Connor went, willingly or begrudgingly, Murphy would always follow.

Once Connor was in the car and the gates had been opened for them, soon the prison was a rapidly shrinking mass, and was quickly lost behind trees. As he’d expected, it was completely silent as they drove. Other than Connor telling Murphy to pull over for a second and him dumping a new set of clothes in his lap, neither of them really said anything. Not even when they were finally rid of their prison overalls which were ceremoniously dumped out of their respective window moments later. Nothing was said after that for quite some time, and while Murphy stewed over whether or not it should be him to break the ice or if he should let Connor have the honours, he’d shifted round in his seat a little, and left Murphy to his thoughts as he let his eyes close. He was hoping he’d be able to drift off, but no sooner had he gotten comfortable did Murphy decide to start talking. It wasn’t an apology or anything close, but it was a start.

“…Should probably avoid the city - anywhere densely populated is gonna be hell…You listenin’?”

“Yeah.”

“So…what? Where’re we goin’?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re the one with the plans. Thought you put a little more thought into this. My bad I guess.”

“For Christ’s sake…” Sitting up properly, Connor turned to his brother, who only deigned to give him a quick side glance before looking back at the stretch of road ahead. “You’re gonna make me apologize, aren’t you? Alright, well – I’m a prick. And I’m sorry.”

“Aye, you are.” Letting a smirk finally push the frown off his face, Murphy added; “…S’fine. Sorry, too.”

“For what? You’ve been such a pleasant little shit throughout this entire experience. Whatever could you have done wrong?”

“Do us a favour and play in the traffic, yeah?”

“What traffic?” Theatrically looking out of his window and then the windscreen, Connor gave Murphy a sudden, mocking look of realization.

“Aaah, right – I forgot it’s you drivin’ – God only knows that’s all it takes to make our roads unsafe”

And thus, with the both of them snickering and the tension evaporating, they were as good as normal, and soon Connor had found a map of Georgia opened up awkwardly as he pushed his feet up onto the dashboard. Rolling down his window, Murphy glanced over to where Connor was studying the map.

“So..? Where’re we headed..?”

“That’s what I’m workin’ out…any idea what highway we’re close to?”

“No idea. I’m willin’ t’bet it’s backed up from here to Atlanta though. You wanna risk it?”

“I hear you…if we’re close to the seventy five, then the next city is Macon – how’re we for fuel?”

“About half a tank – you sure about this? The city’s gonna be packed with infected, and that’s if we even make it via the highway”

“Then we’ll find another way there. It’s also be our best bet for supplies, unless we find anything’ worth grabbin’ on the way.”

“We’ve got enough supplies to last us a week, maybe longer, easy. No need to start scavengin’ just yet”

“You’ll be happy we did when we start t’run low…mark my words, oh brother of mine.”

It wasn’t long after that that Connor managed to fall asleep in his seat, head lolled to the side and map still unfurled in his lap. Murphy considered hitting the deeper potholes on purpose to jolt his sibling awake, but thought better of it. He actually managed to stay asleep for a while, and Murphy was content to keep driving, letting himself get lost in his thoughts as the rosary beads slipped through the fingers of his free hand in an absent attempt to keep his hands occupied.

Only minutes later was he pulled out of his own head, slowing the car right down as he leaned forward, watching as a large mass of metal tumbled through the air, trailing thick, black smoke as it hurtled towards the ground, landing somewhere in the forest with an earth shaking crash. Pulling onto what he deemed to be a safe enough path, Murphy drove them further in until they were closer to the crash site, only shaking Connor awake when he’d pulled to a stop.

“Conn’ – Connor, wake up”

“What..? I’m up, what’s wrong?”

“Somethin’ went down over there – a helicopter, I think. Come on.”

Connor just gave him a narrow eyed look of misunderstanding.

“’Come on’…where? We’re not goin’ in there, and if you think we are then-

“What if it’s got medical supplies in it? Or food? Useful shit – come on, Connor – it’s not far from here. We go in, check it out, and get back here. You’ll be back to your nap before you know it.”

It went against his better judgement in at least five different ways. But soon they were both clambering out of the car and heading into the forest, Connor checking his gun as Murphy hurried ahead. It was an excuse to look for supplies, yes, but morbid curiosity had been a big part of what had pulled them from the safety of their vehicle and into the wilderness. As promised, it was only a few minutes before they were approaching the clearing which now held the smoking wreckage of what was, as Murphy correctly predicted, a helicopter. Catching up to him, Connor motioned for him to slow down as stay quiet, not that it mattered much; the noise from the crash meant they were in the middle of a target for the infected. Connor found the first man; severed completely in two, laying in a pool of his own blood and entrails. Crouching next to him, a quick prayer was said for him and his eyes were closed before Connor helped Murphy search the wreckage. However, this too was cut short by the sudden presence of other cars, seemingly getting louder and louder. The boys barely got behind cover a short distance away before two vehicles rolled up the scene – small trucks by the looks of it, and with every man that climbed out of them, the more serious their situation became.

“Fuck me, they got here fast…” Whispered Murphy.

“Aye, they did – now keep your trap shut.” Hissed Connor in return. Looking form his brother back to the strangers, Murphy watched as they spread out – one with a bow, one with a bat, the rest with guns. And then one man in black, nothing too special other than the fact he was the one doling out the orders. All they could do was sit and watch as the men examined the husk of the helicopter, at one point dragging the pilot out from his seat, apparently checking him over. Then came the man that Connor had prayed for – with only a moment’s hesitation, the branded leader of the group pulled out his knife and plunged it down into the dead man’s skull.

“Conn’ – wasn’t he dead..?”

Connor nodded, eyes wider than before and filled with a new kind of anxiety, or concern.

“Aye, he was…he was cut in half…”

“What the fuck’s he doin’ then…the fuck’s goin’ on…”

“I don’t know. Just, stay quiet – they’ll leave before long and we can get the fuck back in that car and get the fuck out of he-”

“Put down your weapons and let me see your hands.”


	20. Where the grass is greener

At first neither did anything, only froze where they were crouched, hoping that they hadn’t heard what they thought they had.

“Both of you - guns down, hands up. Move it.”

Looking from the guy behind them to Murphy, Connor gave him a nod to do as instructed, slowly putting his weapon down and straightening up, hands held up at waist height as he turned round. The man had a semi-automatic clasped firmly in his hands and a look of calm authority; he had the bigger weapon and the upper hand. Now all that remained was deciding what to do with the brothers. Motioning towards the clearing, he collected their guns and followed as they hesitantly did as they were told, stepping out into the light and bringing the attention of the others towards them simultaneously. The leader looked them over curiously as he approached, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and a slight, crooked smirk on his lips.

“What do we have here…?”

“Found them back there, watching us.”

“I see...I’m assuming that’s your vehicle?”

“…Aye, that’s ours.” Connor replied carefully, trying to get a read on the man in front of them whilst keeping an eye on the one behind. To say this was a precarious situation would have been an understatement, and he had no intention of letting them both die the same day they left the prison.

“And what is it you boys are doing here?”

“Just passin’ through.” Said Murphy as casually as he could. “Saw the helicopter come down, figured there’d be supplies or somethin’...”

This answer was apparently sufficient for the time being, as the older man just looked back toward the copter with an agreeable nod.

“Got anywhere you need to be? A camp round here, maybe?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. We’ve just been on the road for the most part.”

“He’s alive, sir – are we taking him back with us?”

Now all parties turned to the man who had been inspecting the pilot – for signs of life or something else. With a final confirmation nod from him, the leader called for his men to regroup and pack up anything they’d found. And at his command, after a small hesitation, both Connor and Murphy were being pushed towards one of the trucks, both of their protests silenced quickly by the reiteration of how out-gunned they were. Blindfolds were pulled down over their eyes once they were sat down, and only once they’d begun to drive away did Murphy lean over an inch or so and mutter to his brother in Irish;

“Any great plans to go with this little detour?”

“I’m working on it. In the meantime, don’t do anything stupid. We don’t know what we’ve gotten ourselves into here.”

“Aye. And what if we’ve gotten ourselves into shit creek? In case you didn’t notice, they’ve taken our boat and our paddle.”

“Then we deal with it. We’ll be out of this in no time.”

“We’d better be...”

It wasn’t a long journey – before long they were slowing down, then pulling to a stop completely, and only then were their blindfolds removed, though the sight before them was not something either had been anticipating. Houses, but not abandoned or crawling with infected. No, these were instead being inhabited by people – normal, healthy people, and lots of them as well. There was no blood, no gunfire and no sense of impending danger and no scare induced urgency. Everyone was going about their day as though they were completely oblivious to the horrors that lay on the other side of the wall that they’d just passed through. They were hurried into one of the nearest buildings pretty quickly, but in the minute or so that they had to take in the place, both brothers were rendered almost speechless.

Led through corridors, eventually they were both brought to a dark, plain looking room with nothing but a table and two chairs. Both taking their seats as instructed by the guard at the door, they weren’t waiting long before the man from before – the one in charge, or ‘the Governor’ as Murphy had heard him called – came in as well, switching on another light as he went and stepping slowly around the table. He kept the questions light for the time being; what were their names, where had they come from, did they have any other weapons on them, all of which the boys answered honestly – to an extent – and cautiously. They both shared an itching need to explore this new safe haven, this place where they could wander around outside and really relax, get real food and sleep in real beds. If, of course, that’s why they’d been brought here at all. As a goodwill gesture. But the longer they were kept in this room and casually interrogated by the man with the easy going accent and too-kind smile, the more uneasy they began to feel.

The Governor had to leave not long afterwards, though apparently whatever they’d said paid off – soon they were being ushered out of the room once again and led back outside, where they were taken to a larger, white building, and then on to what looked like a vacant hotel room. Simple furnishings, sure, but there were two beds, and an en suite through a side door.

The water had only been warm for a few minutes before it began to get temperamental, but just having a shower that worked properly, and real soap…if he’d been alone, Murphy easily could have stayed under the steady stream until he’d been forcibly removed. The showers back in the prison…well, they did their job. Barely. But unlike then, now he actually felt clean, a little more like himself. And the slight lift in mood was, as most things with them were, shared by Connor once he was finished.

Laying back, Murphy rolled his head to the side and shot Connor a new question.

“So?”

Pushing his fingers through damp hair, Connor didn’t bother to look up straightaway as he replied.

“What?”

“This place – not too bad, right?”

“…Aye - Shower’s good, I’ll give it that.”

“Mmm…why d’ya think they brought us here?”

“Don’t know. But I want to.” Pulling his shirt back on, Connor noticed that Murphy looked far more optimistic than he felt. “Why bother bringing us here? We could be anyone, and it doesn’t look like they need any more people here….s’like a fuckin’ town for Christ’s sake…”

“Maybe they just felt like doin’ a favour.”

“That’s one way of looking at it...”

Murphy shrugged, and for about half an hour, they stayed put, revelling in the size if the beds compared to prison bunks, and how welcome a change it was to be completely clean. Shortly after that they decided to do a little exploring; the Governor hadn’t come back to ask them anymore questions and they both had burning questions of their own about the place and about its inhabitants and its origins. As they wandered past buildings and slowly took it all in, Connor – despite his tiredness – seemed to relax by several degrees. He even dared smile at one point, though he could have been blind and still noticed the unease practically radiating off of his brother. Nudging him with a sharp elbow, Connor gave him a smirk.

“C’mon, Murph’ – cheer up.”

“I’m fine.”

“Aye, and I’m a Scot – are y’seein’ this place right..? Bit of an upgrade from maximum security.”

“Aye. Right from ‘Prison Break’ to the fuckin’ Brady Bunch.”

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothin’, s’just…there’s somethin’ not right here. It’s all too…perfect. Too good to be true.”

“…Takin’ into account everythin’ that’s happened, Murphy – maybe this time let it be too good, for a while at least?”

Glancing from Connor to the road ahead, he just shook his head.

“Easier said than done.”


	21. Too good to be true

The more of the town – Woodbury – they saw, the more their opinions switched places. Connor was drinking it in like a fine whiskey, while Murphy became more and more wary. The room was nice enough - clean clothes and a hot shower were promising selling points. But there was something nagging at him that he couldn’t seem to shake. He wanted to be back on the road, and he told Connor in so many words, but he was having none of it. He needed somewhere to rest up, and they both needed a decent meal – perhaps, if they’d been brought here on the purest intentions, then maybe they could ride out that charity for a few days. Repay them with a little hard work and be on their way. He could smile and call Murphy paranoid and reassure him all he wanted, but even after he’d just nodded and kept his thoughts to himself, Murphy still found himself eyeing everything with an air of suspicion.

The people they spoke to were nice enough, answered their questions as fully as they could; and much to Murphy’s disdain, Connor seemed content with them. They managed to get something to eat, and soon found a place to sit and people watch as they ate. In this place, the sun no longer felt merciless and baking, but suddenly welcoming and comforting. The air that was once heavy with decay and danger was suddenly fresh, rejuvenating. Just by the look of it alone, this was a place where there was no possibility of a smile being your last. If you could keep from looking to the armed guards who patrolled the gated wall, you could almost pretend you were in your home town, wherever that might have been. The people seemed to walk with an ease about them, and that, Murphy had to admit he envied. But, as he finished his meal he drew a long breath, releasing it as an even longer sigh.

“We need to make a plan.”

“I know.”

“We can’t stay here – Couple’a days, and that’s it-”

“Murph’, come on. Can we turn the ‘dark and dismal’ off for a few fuckin’ hours..?”

Instead of gracing him with a response, Murphy just rolled his eyes and looked away. He didn’t have the energy for another argument, and that’s all this would dissolve into if he carried on. It felt like that was all they really did anymore – they made up, sure, but ever since Rick’s group arrived at the prison, they’d butted horns far more than they usually did. It all felt so superficial, and that bothered him. They’d always been close, practically joined at the hip; he wasn’t prepared to let this world change that, and while he knew Connor wasn’t either, they both had catching up to do if they were going to get back to how they’d always been.

When Murphy – rather uncharacteristically – said nothing in return, Connor considered just leaving it at that. But there was something genuine in the anxiety that clung to the circles under his eyes and the increased the tightness in his jaw, kept his fingers scratching and snagging on the skin surrounding his thumbs. In this way, Murphy was very much like a dog – he was unrelentingly loyal and when the situation called for it, playful in equal measure. He could hold his own in a fight and would do so in defence of most. But when he was nervous, it was different. When his guard was up he was jumpy, skittish – more prone to lashing out. And while Connor hid nervousness better than his brother, he also knew how much Murphy hated having his fears brushed off as nothing, even when they were nothing but the dark during a storm or visits to the doctor. As they grew these fears had dissolved like aspirin in water and he had never really had anything to be scared of since. But for some reason this picture-perfect, makeshift town had him on edge. Reaching out to push his hands apart, Connor ignored his protests.

“Alright, come on. I’m listenin’.”

“Nah, you’re not. Forget it.”

“Yeah, I am – I’m all ears.”

He only got a sulky look in response.

It was becoming rapidly obvious that Murphy wasn’t going to spill, so instead of pushing the issue, Connor just held up his hands in temporary surrender; they didn’t need another fight under their belts before the day was even halfway through, and he knew Murphy would either open up eventually or get over whatever it was. So, instead of questioning him, Connor finishing what he was eating, and lightly cleared his throat as he broached the topic he hoped would actually get a reaction.  
  
 “So – here’s the plan.”

That got an interested brow raise, at least.

“We stay here for three days, three nights. That’s all, and then we can leave, go wherever we wanna go. Gives us a chance to find our feet, plan our route, recharge a little…fair?”

When only a long silence followed, after a few seconds Connor gave Murphy a whack to the arm – not hard, but not exactly playful either.

“Y’goin’ deaf as well as pre-menstrual?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, he’s awake, it’s a Christmas bloody miracle.” Turning to face him fully, Connor watched carefully as he reiterated his question. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“Of course you do; you came up with it.”

“Yeah, well, unless you give me somethin’ to work with, it’s gonna be the only plan we can use. Unless you’ve got somethin’ to bring to the table?”

“Aye; we get the fuck out of here and back on the road. Like we were before.”

“Did you hear any of my reasons for stayin’ a while? Should I remind you whose idea it was to stop the car and play detective in the first place?”

When Murphy just rolled his eyes and looked away, Connor finally dropped any attempt to be playful. He got to his feet, making out like he was going to walk away but stopping at the last second.

“Alright - If this is about the prison, about us leavin’ – if you’re pissed at me for that, then I don’t know what t’say to you, Murph’. It was a good deal, I took it, and because of that we’re not out in the middle of nowhere without weapons and we’re not in one of the piles of bodies outside the cellblocks. Be fucked off with me if it makes you feel better, but I’m tired, Murphy. Tired of always havin’ you angry, at me, at…I don’t know.”

Now Murphy was looking up at him, his brother’s unexpected honesty rendering him a little lost for responses.

“I’m trying my best, I’m doing everything I can here- ”

“I know you are, I fuckin’ know you’re tryin’-”

“Then at least do me the courtesy of acting like my brother and not like a kid I’m baby-sittin’. I want you with me, you’re my family. I mean, Christ – you’re my brother, I’d do anythin’ for you, you know that right?”

 The fact he even had to verbalize that into a question rubbed Murphy the wrong way, but still their voices remained low enough to avoid attracting attention from the occasional passer-by.

“Of course I do-”

 “Then cut me a little slack with this.”

Holding his hands up momentarily, Murphy wasn’t stupid enough to let himself hesitate this time around.

“…Four days. Four nights.”

After a moment, he smiled in both relief and appreciation for the additional day as he wandered back to his seat, pushing an arm around his sibling’s shoulders for a purposefully awkward side hug before both sat back, relaxing into the bench they’d chosen.

“Alright. Now all my feelin’s are out and I’ve had my little pity party rant, we’re goin’ back to you.”

“Fucks sake…”

“Aw, come on – normally y’won’t shut up about yourself, given the chance. Seriously though, what’s got you so freaked about this place..?”

“I told you, it’s nothin’”

“And I call bullshit.”

This time, after what could only be described as yet another divine intervention, Murphy shrugged, his palms turning up as he finally spoke.

“…I don’t know.”

 


	22. Fool me once

Over the following hours, the boys managed to keep from arguing anymore – some might call that a miracle in itself. Though even if their bickering had simmered down, Murphy’s uneasiness remained undeniable. But, it wasn’t brought up again. Soon they found themselves wandering near the barricade-like wall that stood at the entrance to the town, patrolled by numerous people, all armed and watchful of the corpse littered road on the other side. The men, for the most part, all looked like they’d escaped the same prison the brother’s had left behind – all hardened and itching for a fight.

As they continued on their way, someone approaching them caught Connor’s attention, and when they nodded for them to wait, he slowed them both to a stop with a tap to Murphy’s arm. It was the Governor, and while he greeted them nicely enough, and although he was polite and charming, it was the sort of charm one would expect from a venomous serpent. The kind that a predator has about it when it knows it could strike at any time, and is safe in the knowledge that its strike would kill.  As was becoming habit, Connor carried the conversation for the most part – he was good at it, and he knew just as well as his brother that Murphy would more than likely give away just how wary he was. If it’s one thing you’re always fed in movies, it’s never show a dangerous creature you’re afraid – and the more this guy spoke, the more guarded the darker haired twin became.

Giving him a glance, the Governor smirked slightly at the narrow-eyed look he got in return.

“Tell me – you a fan of wrestlin’, that sort of thing?”

“..No”

“Why d’you ask?”

“There’s something happening tonight, around nine or so – I have a feelin’ it’ll be something you boys will enjoy”

Giving a convincing smile and nod of consideration, Connor replied in good time.

“Just tell us where and we’ll be there.”

“There’s a space just behind that building there, but most of the folks here will be going. Just follow the crowd, and you’ll find it.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. The Governor had excused himself – ever so politely, of course - as one of the patrolmen had beckoned him over, and, as expected, once he was out of earshot, Murphy gave Connor an incredulous look.

“Now we’re acceptin’ fuckin’ party invites?”

“The fuck was I supposed to say? ‘No – we think we’ve entered the Twilight Zone and wanna get out before the clock strikes 12’?”

Rolling his eyes as they started walking again, Murphy gave the gates one more glance.

“What sorta thing d’you think’s gonna happen?”

“No idea. But, maybe it’ll be a good night. Christ knows you need a distraction.”

“Yeah, yeah…what d’you wanna do now?”

“I’m thinkin’ we split up for an hour or two – explore the place, get a better feelin’ for it. Maybe ask around, find out more about it.”

“And if his Lordship finds us snoopin’..?”

“Then you play innocent. Come on, the guy’s alright – a little ‘Patrick Bateman’-esque, I’ll grant you, but he’s no Hannibal Lecter.”

“You’re not getting’ the same vibe I am then…”

“What’s he gonna do, Murph’? Kill us and keep our heads as trophies in his office?”

“And won’t you feel fuckin’ stupid if that turns out right.”

With a playful shove, Connor smirked as his brother flipped him off as they went in their separate directions – Murphy heading around the backs of the houses and Connor going back through the town centre.

-

It was refreshing, in a strange way, to walk alone. While he knew Murphy would probably piss someone off before long, a little space was something they both needed, even if it was only for a short time. Connor needed to clear his head – really take stock of this safe haven they’d found themselves in. He wanted to believe it was as good as it all seemed; that the Governor really was as hospitable and generous as he seemed, and that maybe he could talk Murphy into staying here. He wanted to believe that they could maybe living here, if not permanently, for a few weeks or months at least.

They both needed a reprieve from the gore and the harshness reality of the world beyond the wall, they needed time to let their minds relax for more than a few minutes at a time. But, perhaps above all else, they needed time to really rest. You make yourself work through the hunger and the tired ache behind your eyes, but they were both exhausted – running on fight or flight. He was sure his brother could see it, see how tired Connor really was, despite the bravado they put on in equal measure. It was clear as day in every expression, especially those that were pulled when one thought the other wasn’t looking. He wanted to sleep and be able to really rest easy, knowing they wouldn’t have their throats ripped out if one of them wasn’t at least half-awake. He wanted Murphy to go a night without waking in a cold sweat. That trail of thought brought him back to the prison; how was the group doing? Did they all breathe a collective sigh of relief as soon as they’d pulled out of the gates? Perhaps, with them leaving, they’d allowed everyone they’d left behind to sleep easy.

Pushing a hand into his pocket, Connor shielded his eyes with the other as he looked up at the building he’d stopped in front of; it looked like a town hall of some kind, maybe smaller. If he was really looking for information, this seemed like a good place to start. Approaching the doors, he cast a wayward look down the sidewalk as he let himself in, carefully shutting the door behind him, though it didn’t take him long to realize he’d probably wandered into someone’s home. With that in mind, he went to leave almost immediately – until he noticed something.

Behind clean, glass cabinet doors was a katana – or a some kind of sword, at least, the long, thin blade catching the light just-so as he stepped closer. It looked used, so it wasn’t just there for decoration, or part of a collection…the image of someone taking out one walker after another with a weapon like that did impress him, he had to admit, though as he admired the rest of the weapons on display, two guns in particular caught his eye. They were both on the desk, slotted together like matching jigsaw pieces, but it wasn’t until he turned one over that his suspicions were confirmed.

One was Murphy’s, the other his.

On one particularly hot and boring afternoon in their cell, Murphy had etched a cross into the butt of his gun, and soon after had loaned his particular artistic flair to his brother’s as well. Taking both of them back, he gave them both a quick check before continuing with his exploration, taking in as much as possible. The place was well kept, and much larger than he’d first thought – there were other rooms that this one led into, one behind a closed door. Giving the place another once over, Connor went for the handle.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He hadn’t even heard the door open, so the sudden presence of a second man in the room forced Connor to turn at superhuman speed, his heart startling into a steady rhythm a few seconds too late. The fact he’d manage to startle the other seemed to amuse the Governor, and for a minute he decided to let him squirm, closing the main doors slowly behind him, every movement seemingly calculated as he gradually made his way over to the desk. His desk. Of course it was.

“Sorry, I didn’t know this was-”

“It’s alright, it’s fine” the older man interrupted, giving Connor a reassuring chuckle; one that, perhaps against his better judgement, made Connor relax that much more.

“You were just looking, I presume?”

“Aye – really, if I’d known this was your place, I wouldn’t have just let myself in”

“Please. Don’t worry about it – I try to keep my doors open, if anyone has any problems, you know, the usual…but duty calls.”

“It’s a nice place you’re runnin’ here…Woodbury, right?”

“Yes. And thank you. I like to think the others here would agree. I wanted to give these people another chance…another shot at a normal life. Well, as normal as possible.”

“How long have you been here?”

There was a pause as the Governor narrowed his eyes – only very slightly, and only for a moment – but it was enough.

“Long enough to know it works. And long enough to know that, as long as they’re not a threat, and can pull their weight, one way or another…strangers are just as welcome as anyone else.”

Going to lean back against the desk, Connor saw him look it over briefly before turning back to him, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

“You’re close, you and your brother.”

“…Yeah, we are. All each other has, that sorta thing”

“I can understand that. Family’s important, especially with the world the way it is.”

Just giving him a nod in reply, Connor gave the doors a quick glance, as though in the hope that someone would come and interrupt this meeting of theirs. It was a strange feeling – he knew he wasn’t being threatened, and the Governor wasn’t acting threatening. And yet, the longer he stood in the same room as him, the smugger Murphy’s eventual ‘I told you so’ seemed to become in his mind. There was something wrong. He just had no idea what.

“We both appreciate it, but…why’d you bring us here? Looks to me like you’ve got more than enough people to look out for, I can’t imagine bringing in two strangers is in your best interests”

“In my best interests..?” With another, quieter chuckle, the Governor gave Connor a challenging look, masked cleverly behind that damned smile.

“The way I see it, the only one whose best interests are on the line here are you and your brother’s.”


	23. First impressions

The town itself was nice enough, despite the heavy ‘Twilight Zone’ vibe Murphy kept getting from it. On the surface, there was little to no reason not to want to settle here, to make friends and contribute and live. Perhaps he was being paranoid about the place. Maybe the road and the stress they’d been under meant he was more jumpy than usual, less likely to trust anyone. They were always careful as a rule, and with only the two of them, there’d never been any problems with putting faith in other people. Because the more people you have in your circle, the higher the risk of betrayal and dishonesty. People were people, and no matter how welcoming they seemed, it took a certain level of trust that only time could develop to really prove that you wouldn’t be left for dead at the first sign of trouble. At the end of the day, without that bond, everyone is out for themselves; it’s human nature, survival of the fittest.

They knew they could depend on each other, so when Connor had seemed so eager to join up with the others at the prison, Murphy hadn’t been able to see past his own bias. They didn’t need anyone else, and although what Connor had said had made sense, the more Murphy thought about it, the less he liked it. If they were going to find a group, it’d be one they wouldn’t need to prove themselves to. Of course, with the world as it was, that was a naïve dream; respect had to be given to be received, but at the same time, it’d taken Connor risking his life for Rick and his people before they even considered letting them out of their cell. And that wasn’t something that had sat well with him, regardless of Connor’s bullshit ‘right and wrong’ speech he’d been given.

As he made his way round the back of some of the houses, Murphy just hoped that his eager-to-trust twin wouldn’t fall in the same hole again. Hoped that he wouldn’t be fooled by the white picket fence life this place offered. He’d played along at the prison, so maybe this time it’d be his turn to take the reins on where they went after this.

So far, his exploration hadn’t yielded much result. The route behind the houses took him to some storage units, a couple of dumpsters, and then a little further on two trucks. Nothing exciting, and nothing out of the ordinary either.

“Well well…look at what we have here - One of the leprechauns.”

Looking back, Murphy’s eyes were drawn almost immediately to the right arm of the man who was gradually making his way towards him. It was a normal limb, until it came to an abrupt end in the form of a stump, concealed inside a skilfully made cover of some kind, though the growing proximity of its owner had his line of sight fixed just as fast.

“You feel like tellin’ me what you’re doing all the way back here? Sniffin’ around where you don’t need to be”

His voice was a strange one in that it didn’t quite fit the body it was attached to, cracked like that of a heavy smoker, but he was definitely from around here, his accent heavy and drawling. Standing his ground, Murphy opted for honesty, pushing his hands loosely into his pockets.

“Just havin’ a look around. Got nothin’ better t’do.”

“Is that right…”

Now a few feet away from him, the stranger paused briefly before beginning to circle the Irishman, sizing him up in a way he hoped might intimidate him. Murphy just followed him with his eyes, taking the opportunity to take another look at that hand – or rather, lack therefore.

“If I remember right - and I’ve got a real good memory – there were two’a you. Where’s your lil playmate now?”

“No idea.” Murphy shrugged, finally meeting his eye once more as he finally appeared around his other side. “Went our separate ways for a bit.”

“You got names?”

 “Why? You wantin’ an autograph?”

“You think I’m playin’ around here?” Closing the distance between them by quite a bit, finally Murphy was forced back half a step; this guy wasn’t much taller, but he looked like he was used to being the one giving orders, not having cheek thrown back at him. Not that that would stop the younger man from doing so anyway.

“This ain’t your home, these ain’t your friends-”

“That’s not what your boss man seems to think.” Halving the gap between them both once again, Murphy got up in his face, though this wasn’t taken all that well.

 “He’s been real fuckin’ welcoming”

 “Is that right?”

A smirk crawled across his face, and when he backed off and made like he was walking away, for a blissful moment, Murphy relaxed a little. Letting himself blink was his first mistake, as it was the one that meant he caught the full brunt of that damned stump straight to the gut, knocking the air clean out of him, and sending him down into the dirt. Something hit him in the face – the toe of a boot, maybe, and right after, he was being hoisted up by the neck and pinned back against one of the dumpsters. The guy was strong, and combined with the quickness of his hits and the shock, Murphy found himself in a rare position indeed; helpless, or something in close second.

“In that case, let me give you a real nice welcome, from the people of Woodbury, and from me.”

Leaning in close, the smirk faded into a threatening sneer.

“You’re both here on the Governor’s good will. You wanna try an’ play games with me, that’s fine – I’ll give you a beating so bad your faggot brother in there won’t know your face from your ass. But let me give you a lil’warning, right from me to you…”

Struggling wasn’t much of an option given how hard he had his hand clamped around Murphy’s throat, but he still found himself cringing back as the other man lowered his voice, finding a small amount of amusement in how rattled the man in his grip and in his mercy seemed to be.

“You try an’ mess with him? I promise you right now, right hand to God…” As if for dramatic effect, he raised his stump up a few inches with a harsh chuckle.

“You won’t last the night. But…given that you still got problem’s learnin’ manners when you’re in someone else’s house, maybe I’ll let you find out for yourself what happens to mouthy little shits in this town.”

As his reply, Murphy spat at him – a well-aimed shot, straight in the eye. It earned him another hit and another kick to the belly, and the stranger returned the favour in kind, but eventually he was left alone once more, the man’s laughter fading as he headed off. Sitting up with a suppressed groan, he wiped the spittle off of his face, smudging fresh blood across his cheek as he did so. A steady stream of the stuff was running out of his nose and from his lip, but it was hardly the worst he’d endured in his life. The fun bit was yet to come.

X

 

“With all due respect an’ all that, I don’t respond well to threats.” Connor replied carefully, though the lightness had long since left his tone. “If you don’t want us here, let us leave. We won’t be any trouble for you.”

“I’m not threatening you. But you’re not quite understanding me either…if I wanted you and your brother dead? You’d already be rotting on the other side of that wall. Maybe left to come back if I wasn’t feeling as generous as I was the day I brought you both here.”

“We didn’t ask you to take us here – y’could’ve left us at the crash site.”

“And then what? You both would have headed off, maybe into the city, maybe further into the country. Eventually…your supplies would run out, and you’d get jumped by another group or you’d get bit.”

“We appreciate you takin’ us in, but-”

“But? What?” The Governor frowned, holding his hands out, expectantly awaiting a good enough answer.

“…Murphy and I, we had a plan. We would’ve made it work, and if it didn’t, we’d think of somethin’ else. You’ve got a good operation goin’ here, I can see that. You’ve got it under control. But I don’t think it’s for us.”

“That’s a lot of words and not a lot of you saying anything, _Connor._ Now, hear me out for a minute.”

As the Governor spoke, Connor moved parallel to him, not letting him get closer, but not backing off either.

“You’re both capable young men. And while I don’t doubt you work best together, he’s your priority, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When push comes to shove, if one of your plans doesn’t work out, you’ll both get killed. It’s as simple as that, no matter which or what way you swing it. Family is all we have now, I get that. We all have someone we’d protect with our life.”

“You got family here..?”

“…I do.” Looking up at Connor once more, the Governor gave a knowing half-smile.

“You’d do anything for them. But it’s that determination to keep them safe that means things get overlooked. You miss things, and out there? That’s the line between living and dying. Here, we got a good thing going, like you said. And you and Murphy are welcome to be a part of it, if you wanted. Just say the word, and I can guarantee you his safety.”

“There’s no guarantee’s anymore.”

“We haven’t had an incident in months.”

“Then no one’s safety’s guaranteed.”

“I can see we’re going in circles here.” Approaching the Irishman, he laid a hand on his shoulder momentarily.

“I’ll let you sleep on it. The offer’s open, and if you accept it, there’s plenty of jobs that need doing. You can pull your weight here, settle down. You’ll be protected, we look out for each other here.”

“Me and Murph’…we’ve done alright so far.”

“Like I said. Sleep on it, and find me tomorrow.”

 


	24. Jumping to conclusions

It was a few hours longer than planned before the brothers found each other again, although when Connor saw the state of his sibling, some part of him really wasn’t surprised. His nose was crusted with thick, dried streams of blood and looked swollen and painful, with an eye and deep-split lip to match. The way he was walking didn’t fill him with much confidence either.

“Jesus Christ, can I not leave you alone for five fuckin’ minutes? What the hell happened?”

“I’ve already had me ass handed to me, don’t you fuckin’ start…”

Murphy was pissed off, but it was only his ego that was badly bruised. With a sigh, Connor cautiously turned his brother’s face to the light, though he quickly moved his head away again.

“Come on – let’s get’cha cleaned up.”

He didn’t say anything else as Connor led them both towards the room they’d been loaned, ordering him into the bathroom once the door was shut behind them. This was somewhat of a familiar scene – one of them busted and bleeding while the other patched them up. Or if they were both carrying the tell-tale signs of a fight, they fixed themselves, poking fun at one another or comparing injuries. A low grunt of discomfort was the only protest he put up, only wincing every now and then when the cloth hit a particularly painful stretch of skin.

“Don’t be such a baby, Murph’…then again, make’s sense, what with you bein’ the little’un and all.” Giving him a teasing smirk as he gingerly pinched the bridge of Murphy’s nose, the reaction to that was more intense; that definitely hurt, baby comments or not, though the action quickly made it start bleeding all over again.

“Jesus fuckin’ – be careful, will ya?”

“Alright, alright – sorry. Might be broken, kinda hard to say. Look, hold that there – fuck it, you know what to do.”

“I got it…and Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck off am I the youngest.”

“We both know it’s true, Murph’ – you’re just in denial.”

Despite the age old argument, both of them shrugged off the teasing tone easily. Taking advantage of the first aid kit he’d found, Connor went through it, carefully reading labels as he looked for antiseptic, or something close.

“So…you gonna tell me what happened?”

Taking the cloth away from under his nose to test if it was still bleeding, Murphy glanced up at his brother.

“Ran into some asshole, he started talkin’ shit, actin’ like I should’a run off with me tail between me legs. Before I knew it, I’m on the floor gettin’ a beating...”

“Did you get his name or somethin’?”

“Why? You wantin’ to write a note home to his Ma?”

“Just askin’ – Murph’, keep it there. You’re bleedin’ still.”

Doing as he was told, he followed his brother through to the adjacent room, where he sat heavily on the bed like a sulky child.

“What sort of things was he sayin’?”

“Does it matter?”

“Alright, then what the fuck did you say to make him lay into you? And don’t try and feed some shit about you being innocent as anythin’.”

“I don’t know, Connor. He needed takin’ down a peg.”

“Let me know when you plan on doin’ that. Maybe I can watch the next round.”

Rolling his eyes, after a minute or so he gave his brother a nod.

“…What about you? Find out anythin’?”

The question brought Connor’s mood down a notch, but he still answered honestly, pushing his palms down his legs of his jeans as he sat down on the bed opposite.

“Aye. I found our guns, for one.”

“More progress than me then – hand mine over then.”

“Can’t. I found ‘em in the Governor’s office, but he caught me.”

“You serious..? What else was there.”

“A cabinet full weapons and the like, but other than that, nothin’ special. But we talked quite a bit. About this place, about me and you-”

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?” Not giving Connor a chance to finish his sentence, Murphy got back to his feet, hesitating briefly as a sharp pain shot through his abdomen, though he shrugged it off just as fast as he rounded on his brother.

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

“I didn’t. What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothin’ – I’m serious Connor, I’m not stayin’ here any longer than we have to, this isn’t the prison. This is different, I don’t like it, and I don’t trust him-”

“Murph’, give me a chance will you?”

Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, Murphy took a breath and motioned for Connor to explain himself, which he did – though half of his attention was now on how his brother was standing, how he was holding himself up.

“He told me that we’re welcome to stay if we wanted to, how much safer we’d be. We could settle here, pull our weight and all that.”

“How did I come into it? You said you talked about us”

“He asked if you were my highest priority, and I told him yes.” Connor replied earnestly, “I told him we’d make it alright by ourselves, because we would…he asked me to sleep on, maybe talk to you about it, see what we thought in a day or two-”

“’Maybe’ talk to me?”

“I’m doing that now, aren’t I? I’m not leavin’ you in the dark here, that’s everythin’ he said.”

The next few seconds were quiet between them as Murphy hung his head, his lip curled into a resentful when he next caught his brother’s eye.

“So…what? I get no say in what we do. Again. We stay here, stay with the fucking Brady Bunch and live happily ever after? I’d go with you to the ends of the Earth, Connor – but this is some fuckin’ _bullshit,_ you’re not even givin’ me a second thought here!”

That comment made something flair behind Connor’s eyes, but he let it slide as he tried to interrupt the oncoming tirade against him.

“Murphy-”

“I’ve told you what I think of this place, what my gut’s tellin’ me, and you keep ignoring what I’m sayin’, and I’m sick of it - This isn’t fair, Conn’ - and don’t give me some shit about how ‘the world ain’t fuckin’ fair anymore’, because I know it’s not. And you know I’m not leavin’ without you-”

“And I’m not stayin’ with you.” Connor interjected, his voice much calmer than his brother’s, his tone far more level compared to Murphy’s rapidly rising temper.

“He told me to sleep on it. But I’ve got nothin’ to sleep on. I know you don’t wanna be here, and…even though in theory it’d work, you’re right, Murph’. Somethin’s not right here, with this place or with him.”

It was almost visible how quickly Murphy began to calm down, and equally how sheepish he felt for jumping down Connor’s throat so fast. How he hadn’t trusted him not to make the same mistake twice.

“He threatened us – indirectly, but…enough to tell me we’ve gotta watch ourselves until we’re out of here. Which will be in a day, maybe two or three, if you can live with that. Because whether you like it or not, we need to rest. We need a few good meals, and you know just as well I do we could both use as many showers as we can get.”

When Murphy just shifted his weight awkwardly onto his other foot and just nodded in reply, Connor took a deep breath.

“…I know it seems like I don’t listen, Murph’. But I do. I hear you, loud and clear. Even if you think I’m actin’ like a prick, you’ve gotta trust that I’m doin’ my best for us both. You’ve gotta trust me.”

“It doesn’t seem like anythin’…I know you listen”

“Aye, whatever you say. Come on, we’ve already had this talk; can’t be sharin’ our feelin’s this much - might start makin’ us go soft.”

Stepping forward, he pulled his brother into a quick hug, though the tenseness that shot through him made him pull back just as fast.

“Okay seriously, what the fuck’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, I’m fine”

“Like Hell you are. You’re actin’ like you’ve had a kidney taken out and the meds are wearing off – come on, let’s have a look.”

“Fucks sake…”

Pulling his shirt up, Murphy rolled his eyes as he noticed Connor’s face, dropping his shirt a moment later.

“I’m fuckin’ fine, I told you.”

“You’re gonna be black and blue tomorrow – did you fight the fuckin’ Hulk?”

“Nah…just gave me a good kickin’-”

“Hey.”

Both of them turned simultaneously at the presence of the guy at the door.

“Hey chief, ever heard of knockin’?”

“The Governor told me to tell you; the match is gonna start soon.” He replied, ignoring Connor’s comment. And just like that, he was gone. They just gave the other a matching look of scepticism, before Murphy went back into the bathroom, gingerly cleaning his face of any blood Connor might have missed, while his brother took a seat on his bed, pulling his rosary beads out from under his shirt collar.

“Three days…and then we leave.” Turning the cross over delicately between his fingertips, he glanced up at his twin’s back.

“Three days.” Came the reply.

And with that, the subject was settled.

 


	25. Game, set, match

As promised, it was easy enough to find where they had to go; they just followed the clusters of people as they made their way through the town. Murphy’s mood was on thin ice at best, but whatever was happening tonight, Connor was sure it’d take his mind off of things. Unless they ran into the guy Murphy had fought with, in which case he could make no promises. They were led to a large, outdoor area, the crowd gradually gathering around the edges of a primitively made arena of some kind, with posts at certain points around the perimeter. Hitting Connor lightly on the chest, Murphy motioned towards one of them in case they hadn’t been noticed already.

“What d’you reckon they’re for?”

“Don’t know. People look pretty excited though, whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.”

Over the following fifteen minutes, more people filed in and found places to watch the match, and not long after, started cheering at something the brothers couldn’t quite see. Moving further to the front, eventually the walker’s that were being tethered to the posts came into view.

“The fuck…”

When one was brought close to them, both of the men took an instinctive step back. A quick glance around at the people around them, however, painted a completely different story; they could have been watching football with the way they were acting; anxious for the sport to start, excited for the evening’s entertainment. The snapping, groaning animated corpses seemed to do anything but scare them.

“You made it.”

Turning as a hand clapped him on the shoulder, Connor defaulted into a slightly surprised smirk. Murphy didn’t even try to fake it, not that the Governor seemed to give a toss either way. Though he did notice Murphy’s injuries, he didn’t comment on them.

“Yeah, well…we found space on the calendar. Figured we could pencil this in.”

“Good, good.” Evidently, the lame attempt at small-talk humour was noted, because his hand remained on his shoulder as he began to steer him forward. A quick glance and hand gesture told Murphy to stay in the crowd, though he wasn’t alone for long.

“So – what’s with the, ah…the walkers? You pitch ‘em against one another?”

“No, they’re not interested in the dead. All they care about is what lives and breathes. No, what we do….well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough what happens. But, see those men over there?”

Following his eye line, Connor soon spotted the small group of men – all not much older than him, all gearing up for a boxing match, or something like it.

“They fight each other.”

“Right. The walkers just add a little something extra.” As they walked, he gradually began to lead Connor away from the arena, stopping a short distance away.

“I know I told you to sleep on it, and no problem if you haven’t – but-”

“Have I thought about your offer.”

“Right.”

“I talked to Murphy a little about it, but…you know, I think it’s somethin’ we should really discuss when we’re both better rested.”

“Of course, of course...what happened to his face? Look like he’s been fighting.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, he ah…he had a run in with someone. One of your guys, maybe? I don’t know what was said or who started it, but you know – on his behalf, I apologise. He can be pretty hot headed.”

“I appreciate that. I can tell you’re the one with his head on his shoulders here, no offence to him. But you know, if you’re going to seriously consider staying here, which I hope you do, he – ” With a side nod back to where he’d brought Connor from, “- needs to manage his anger better. I can’t be having fights breaking out every other day.”

“Aye…I’ll talk to him.”

“Much obliged. So, tell me-”

His sentence was suddenly cut off by the sounds of cheering, though when they both turned and expected to see the match starting, the sight of Murphy and two other men laying into one another was not one that helped his cause much.

“For fucks sake…”

“’Hot headed’ may have been an understatement.” The Governor commented, giving Connor a look as he started to jog back, though he was forced to stop and turn back when he heard the older man yell after him.

“What?”

“I said, control him. Because if you can’t, he’s not staying here.”

The ultimatum meant little to Connor, given the plan he and his brother had concocted, but when he looked back and saw Murphy pretty much being dragged into the centre of the arena, he took off running once more. Only when he was close enough to be heard over the crowd did he stop, skidding into the middle and shoving one of the men away from his brother, stepping to the side to act like a shield.

“That’s enough!”

The interruption was only met with mocking jeers from the nearby bystanders, and yells of impatience from the crowd. One of the men – not much to look at with just a stump for a right hand approached Connor, his walk something of cocksure swagger.

“And looky who we have here! Leprechaun number two.”

“Real original.”

“I thought so. Now, unless you feel like becoming walker bait, get out of my way.” Shooting a look down at where Murphy was trying to pick himself up, the man smirked cruelly, only looking back at Connor when he moved to block his view.

“You’ve had your fun. Now let us leave.”

“On the contrary! The fun hasn’t even started yet.”

Not bothering to answer him, Connor crouched down next to his brother, not taking his eyes off of the man before them for more than a second.

“You alright?”

“Just get us the fuck out of here.” Came the hissed reply. He was in pain, he was humiliated, and above all he was furious, but he wasn’t stupid. Now wasn’t the time to start anything or make things worse. When three of the other men began to enter the area, Connor straightened up, taking measure of them all before facing the leader again.

“Four on one? Doesn’t seem very sporting, lads.”

“One? I count two of you. Unless your brother can’t handle a bit of a beating.”

“Doesn’t matter what he can handle – you’ve got me to worry about now.”

He shouldn’t have been rising to the jokes, but it was hard not to; he knew he had to get them both out of the situation, but like hell would he go without a fight. Literal or otherwise.

“Looks like we got a new contender for the ring! Alright, tough guy…let’s see what you’ve got, eh? You -” Whistling to one of the others, the man gestured crudely in Murphy’s general direction. “- Get him out of here-”

Cutting him off early, Murphy pointed a warning finger at the same man. “You’ll fuckin’ stay put if y’know what’s good for you. And you.” Turning again to address the redneck, Connor could feel his own temper flaring as his next sentence rolled off his tongue with a venomous twist.

“If you need an audience to get a hard on, you’re not worth my time, let alone my brother’s. Jog on and go back to your trailer. I’m pretty sure your sister’s startin’ to miss you.”

“You got quite a mouth on you, the both of you. You scared to fight? Scared to have your ass handed to you in front of all these good people?”

“These good people ain’t got the stomach for what I’ll do to you if you don’t back the fuck off. You’ll be eatin’ through a tube the rest of your sorry life by the time I’m done.”

“Ooh…big words, man. I’m shakin’ in my boots. Tell me; is that a threat, or a promise?”

“It’s a guarantee.”

That got a low sort of laugh; the kind where the audience were no longer sure what was being said in jest and what was serious. Turning to the side to spit, his opponent let out a breathy laugh, holding up his hands – hand – in mock surrender.

 “Alright, alright…I can take a hint. You and your shit stain of a brother can go if you’re really that scared about getting a little roughed up. Wouldn’t want y’all to break a nail. Then again, I don’t know why I’m acting surprised; he damn near pissed his panties when I beat the shit out of him earlier-”

That earned him a hard right hook to the jaw, rousing a loud, roaring cheer from the people of Woodbury. Moving to defend himself as the others moved in, Connor felt Murphy pull himself to his feet, one hand gripped on his brother’s shirt to keep himself up. Fortunately, the Governor saw fit to step in at that point. Wiping a thin trail of blood from his mouth, Merle – or something like it, it was hard to hear properly over the din of the crowd – gave Connor a nasty, mocking sneer as the Governor passed him. When the older man spoke, however, he certainly commanded the attention of the horde.

“Ladies and gentlemen – you’ve all come here to see some sport, and sport you shall have. These boys here, they’re our guests. And I don’t know about you, but I think our hospitality goes a little further than feeding them to the walkers.”

They laughed, for the most part. By this point, both Connor and Murphy were keeping eyes on the men that surrounded them, and the walkers that reached for any members of the living that wandered too close. With an arm around his brother’s waist to help take his weight as they walked, the twins took their leave upon the Governors word, step by step leaving the cheers and taunts in equal number behind. Only when they were completely out of sight of the arena did Murphy really let himself go, slowing almost to a complete stop and relying almost entirely on his brother to keep him upright.

“Come on, Murph’ – I’ve got you, you’re alright.”

“Mother _fucker_ this hurts…slow down will you, just a second…”

“Probably got some busted ribs. Hopefully that’s the worst of it.”

Letting him down carefully onto a nearby bench, Connor watched in concern as Murphy tried to breathe, though each inhale and exhale seemed to send sharp bullets of pain through him.

“What happened? I was only gone for a minute, what-”

“The fucker – the one with the fucked up hand, I don’t know, he saw me, started makin’ jokes. I got angry, pushed him…I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“That’s fine. After this I can’t see the Governor wanting us here much longer, so there’s a silver lining.”

“…What’d he say to you?”

“Told me I had to keep you under control, otherwise you’d have to leave.”

Reading Connor’s face, soon both of them were smiling, albeit weakly, at the absurdity of the idea.

“Well…as far as controllin’ me goes, you’re doin’ a stand-up job, Conn’. Really.”


	26. Change of plans

Connor’s prediction had been correct. While Murphy had been lucky enough to not have his nose broken, he’d managed to earn himself several fractured ribs and some pretty impressive bruising on what seemed to be every part of his body, more or less. The doctor, while slightly annoyed that she’d been called back into duty after only being at home for a few hours, was nice enough. She checked him over without asking too many questions, and soon enough they were both heading back to their room. With his pride recovered just the right amount, Murphy now insisted he could walk unaided, though the look of repressed discomfort provided Connor with a sick sort of brotherly amusement.

Once they were back in their room, it wasn’t long before Murphy had passed out, leaving Connor with his thoughts for another hour or so. His body and mind were exhausted, but since being overly cautious had become a trait amongst the living, it took him much longer to completely settle and let sleep take him.

Thankfully, however, both of them slept straight through the night, not waking again until gone noon the following day. Well, when Connor woke up, Murphy was still fast asleep, and he didn’t have the heart to wake him. So, as quietly as possible – not that it really mattered; his brother may as well have slipped into a coma in the night, he was sleeping so heavily – Connor washed, dressed, and left the room, feeling well rested for the first time in months. Woodbury was going about its business as he imagined it did every day, though someone a short distance up the road from him didn’t seem to quite fit in. She was tall, or at least she looked it from where he was standing, with dark skin and a stern, intense expression that, when directed at him, he found he wasn’t sure where he should be looking. Without a word, she skulked off, though she left behind the feeling that Connor had offended her somehow. Doing his best to shrug it off, he went in search of something to eat, thankfully not running into any of the men from the arena last night.

Everything seemed normal, more or less. It was still horrifically humid and hot, with the breeze offering very little in the way of a reprieve. But the residents here didn’t seem fazed by it, nor did the guards who stood and kept watch on the wall. Taking another bite of his apple, Connor had just mentally begun to run through the list of things they’d need when they finally got to leave; their car was still in the forest, along with all of their supplies. Perhaps the Governor would be willing to loan them a vehicle, or escort them back to the crash site and let them pick up where they left off.

The hours passed by blissfully slowly, and although Murphy’s bruises all began to turn a painful array of colours, the reminder that they’d be on their way within the next few days cheered him up – almost to his usual self. The regular meals and long hours of sleep took effect quickly on both men, and although they were looking forward to leaving, there was definitely a sense of ‘enjoy it while it lasts’. They didn’t see much of the Governor until the day they were due to leave Woodbury, though when Connor appeared in his doorway and rapped against the frame, he still greeted him as though the events at the fight hadn’t happened.

“Is this a bad time?”

 “Not at all. How’s your brother?”

“He’s had worse. No real harm done.”

Smirking knowingly, the Governor pushed a book back into his space on the shelf. “What can I do for you, Connor?”

“Me and Murphy, we appreciate everythin’ you’ve done for us, bringing us here an’ all. We needed the rest, but I think we’ve been enough trouble for you.”

“Are you here to tell me something, or ask me something?”

“I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind takin’ us back to the helicopter crash site. Our car’s still there – and it has all our supplies in it. Take us there, and we can go our separate ways.”

He didn’t get his answer right away as the Governor considered it, apparently mulling it over as he continued to clear his desk of papers. Pushing one hand loosely into his pocket, Connor waited a moment or two longer before speaking again.

“And speaking of, could I get our guns back as well? Probably gonna need those-”

“From what the doctor told me, your brother’s ribs were badly fractured. They’ll take a good few weeks to heal; I’m no expert, but I wouldn’t say he’s up to travelling just yet.”

“We’re careful. We’ll find somewhere-”

“Why find somewhere else when you’re more than welcome to stay here?” Holding up a hand as he took his usual place, leaning against his desk.

“Of course, I can’t make you boys do anything. You can leave whenever you’d like, but I can’t take you to the crash site. That’s right out in the red zone.”

“Then, I’m going to have to ask you for a bigger favour.” Countered the Irishman, quickly reminding himself to stay cool. It was up to him to convince the man across the room to give him what he wanted, but already it looked like he was fighting a losing battle.

“We’ll need a vehicle when we leave, and if you can’t take us to the one we had before, then I’m going to have to ask if you’ll let us have one of yours.”

“You know…I like to think we’ve been more than hospitable to you and your brother. Is there something about Woodbury that you don’t like, don’t agree with? Because, on the one hand, you preach about looking out for him and keeping the both of you safe, and yet you’re jumping at the chance to drag him back out onto the road when he’s no fit state to move pain-free, let alone run or escape tight situations that you’ll no doubt find yourselves in.” Turning his palms up, the expression on Connor’s face told the Governor all he needed to know; that he was winning.

“Like I said, I can’t make you stay. But I’m trying to understand your thought process. You have beds here, food, all the necessities you need. Murphy will have access to the pain medication he’ll need. I don’t see what the world can offer you other than constant risk and suffering, when you can take it easy here. Which brings me to my next point. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to have you put on the wall. It’d just be a few hours every day, but it’d keep you busy, and you’d pulling your weight…”

“I appreciate the offer…but we’ve already got a plan. We just need a car, or anything you can spare.”

“If I’m being honest here, I think the two of you leaving is a bad move on both our parts.” It was as if he hadn’t heard what Connor had said at all, and yet the younger of the two simply allowed him to talk. Out of respect, maybe. Out of caution, most likely.

“For you, because of the unnecessary risk to your lives – and for me, the fact I’d be losing a potential addition to the security of this town. I’m sure once we’d ironed out the differences between your brother and Merle, then we could find something for him to do as well – maybe even join you.”

It felt like he was verbally being backed into a corner, but not only did the older man have several very good points – and very appealing offers – but he had a way with words that left Connor questioning his own motives. He’d agreed to leave Woodbury with Murphy on the fact that there seemed to be something slow-burning beneath the surface, and yet, he suddenly found himself back at the drawing board. Murphy really wasn’t fit to travel, no matter how much he protested otherwise.

Noticing the hesitation in his demeanour, the Governor tried once more, slowly pushing up from his desk as he did so.

“We all have someone we want to keep safe. But I can guarantee you, Connor – the love you have for your family can be your biggest weakness. Sometimes you have to be the bad guy, have to do what’s needed in order to keep them from harm, even if they don’t like it, or if they even end up resenting you for it.”

“I know that. Murphy’s not a kid – he knows it as well.”

“Does he?”

“Aye. Look, thanks for talkin’ with me. I’ll definitely think about your offer and get back to you.”

“I look forward to hearing your answer.”

“But I’ll only do that if you consider my favour.”

That brought a curious, half-smile to the Governors face.

“Why would I do that? If you say ‘yes’ to my offer, then you won’t need a vehicle.”

“I’ll say yes to your offer on a temporary basis; I work for you here, earn both our keep until Murphy’s good to travel, and then you let us leave with a car and supplies for a few days. I think that’s fair.”

Eventually, his proposition got approval in the form of a nod of the head, and a light chuckle.

“That sounds like the best compromise either of us are going to get.” Clapping Connor on the shoulder, he went to say something else when his door opened, and someone addressed him, apologising for the interruption before continuing.

“Merle’s back, but he’s brought guests.”

“Guests? How many?”

“Two – a man and a woman. They’ve come from a camp nearby.”

“Alright. Connor – I think we’ve reached an agreement. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d better check in on what’s going on.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

“If you could close the door on your way out…”

“No problem.”

Stepping past the smaller, thinner man in the doorway, Connor let himself out and shut the door gently behind him, though he didn’t move from the porch for a minute or so, running through what had just been agreed upon and why. It made sense, he knew it did. But he also knew Murphy wouldn’t like it. Not at first, anyway.

Back at the room, he got the conversation over with quickly and as painlessly as possible. At first, the only thing stopping Murphy from going for him was the pain in his chest, but he had to admit it made sense. He’d been willing to travel and put up with the discomfort of his injuries, but from his point of view, that also meant slowing them both down.

“So…you’re his lackey now? Do you get a uniform, maybe a name tag?”

“Fuck off. I’m doin’ this for both of us, you spoiled prat.”

Chucking a pillow at him, Connor winced a little when Murphy instinctively moved to chuck it back, but cringed back at the last second to sit back, gingerly reconsidering his retaliation.

“Sorry – do y’need anythin’? More pain meds?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just stop throwin’ stuff at me and I’ll be fine. You know, you got a shite bedside manner, Connor. Physically abusin’ your defenceless sibling”

“It was a pillow, Murph’ – Christ, you’re in bed for not even a week and you’re already turnin’ into a right princess.”

“Just you wait till I’m all healed, then you can call me that again – see who’s on bed rest next.”


	27. Breach of contract

The next day passed without much note. Connor completed his first shift on the wall, managing to get friendly with some of the other men already there; most of them were decent enough, all with similar stories as to how they ended up at Woodbury. One or two of them weren’t too interested in making friends, but by the time the evening rolled around and he was allowed to go, Connor found himself feeling good. Even if it’d only been a few hours, having a different kind of responsibility was a refreshing change, while at the same time familiar. The invitation to join some of them for a card game later wasn’t a bad addition, either. Of course, he fully intended to bring Murphy with him, but by the time he’d made it back to the room, his twin had fallen asleep for the second time that day.

Leaning over and whacking Murphy’s leg, Connor rolled his eyes when his brother just mumbled a half-hearted ‘fuck off a moment later, neither eye opening even a little.

“Oi, sleeping beauty, wake up – how long have you been out of it?”

“Well, dipshit, that depends – what time is it?” Murphy replied gruffly, finally gracing his brother with a groggy, narrow-eyed look of disdain.

“Nearly eight. You feelin’ alright..? I always knew you were a lazy shit, but this is a new record for you.”

“S’the pills – whatever the doc gave me.” Motioning to the orange bottle on the bedside table, he gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes as if he’d been asleep for weeks. Picking them up as he took a seat on his bed, he read the label with an air of scepticism.

“They supposed to knock you out like that?”

“I don’t know – as long as they work, I’m not complainin’.”

“Fair enough…I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to a card game later…”

He didn’t need to finish his suggestion – Murphy was already shaking his head, giving his brother an apologetic look.

“Sounds good, but I’m pretty out of it right now – I think I’m one dose away from seein’ the green fairy.”

“That’s absinthe. And that’s a’right, I’ll win you somethin’ nice.”

“If you come back here with absinthe, you’ll be my favourite brother.”

“I’m your only brother, Murph’”

“Yeah, yeah…go on, fuck off – have fun.”

Getting to his feet, Connor leant over and patted his brother’s leg as he headed back out, pausing only to place Murphy’s gun on the table next to his prescription. Returning to the wall in the hopes of catching some of the guys early, Connor finally met up with them, and soon enough they were seated around a table in the basement belonging to a friend of one of the wall guards. Cards were dealt and turns taken, and as beer was shared out, the conversation grew easier and lighter. Connor had more than enough amusing anecdotes from his life before the apocalypse, some at Murphy’s expense, though most had the other men laughing at him, as well as with him, just as much.

The hours went by quickly, and while the game became that much more competitive, it made for a well needed distraction for all involved. Though just as his neighbour was about to take his turn, the sound of gunfire made all of them stop what they were doing, all smiles and laughter dropping in an instant, with everyone on their feet and hurrying up to the street in record time. Pulling his gun and taking off the safety, Connor followed the group into one of the larger buildings – he hadn’t been inside here yet, but the thick clouds of smoke rapidly filling the hallways meant he didn’t have a chance to admire the décor. Finding no one there other than the dead body of another guard, they quickly back tracked and went to find the Governor, though when Connor began to break away, he was grabbed back.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m gettin’ my brother, I’ll-”

“No, you’re coming with us, now. We’re wasting time, come on.”

With a look towards their living space, Connor cursed to himself and did as he was told. With any luck, Murphy was still completely out of it and would stay like that until whatever this was had come to an end. By the time they’d reached the Governor, Merle and one or two of the other men were already there, along with a blonde woman Connor thought he’d seen around once or twice.

“Do we know who these people are?”

“We know they’re dangerous – they killed Warren, got up real close. Got him right through the neck.”

This news gave the situation an entirely new angle, and within minutes they’d all been given their orders; take prisoners if you can, but shoot to kill. That wasn’t something Connor had been expecting to do, but there wasn’t much choice now. Whoever these people were, they obviously meant everyone here harm. Kill or be killed.

He went where he was told and checked where he was meant to – that is, until he opened one door and was met by the tip of a crossbow bolt. He knew its owner, as he knew everyone else in the room. Hurriedly shutting the door behind him, he held up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. The other’s seemed just as surprised – and confused – to see him as he was. Meeting Rick halfway, Connor immediately pressed him for answers.

“What’re you doing here? The fuck’s going on?”

“We’re getting Glenn and Maggie – the Governor was keeping them here as hostages, nearly had them killed. Why’re you here?”

 “That doesn’t matter. They’re lookin’ for you lot, you need to leave if you don’t want any more bloodshed”

“Why’re you here?” Rick asked again, his voice a loud, rough whisper as he checked the window once more.

“The day we left the prison, me and Murph’ saw a helicopter go down. We went to investigate, met his group here, and got brought here by the Governor-”

“And you’re working for him now? With what they did to Glenn?”

Looking down at the man in question, Connor quickly took in his beaten and bleeding face, shaking his head as he gave Rick his answer.

“I didn’t know they were here-”

“You want us to believe you knew nothin’? You had no idea they were here?” Daryl added, with no attempt to hide his suspicions.

“I swear, I didn’t know – I would’ve done somethin’ if I did”

“Now you’ve been brought up to speed, you still on his side?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side – Murph’ got beaten up and can’t leave ‘till he’s healed. In return for a car and supplies when he’s good to go, I’ve gotta do this-”

“He’s a psychopath.” Glenn said frankly, voice cracked with repressed pain. With a glance up at the Irishman, he gave him a stern look.

“I don’t know you or your brother that well, but your new boss? You should get out of here while you can.”

“I can’t. I don’t-”

“Rick, we need to move, _now._ ”

Cursing under his breath, Rick stopped to think, eventually looking up, pointing at Connor as he approached him, talking fast.

“If you help us now, you can come back with us.”

“Rick-”

“I thought we weren’t welcome in your group?”

“We need all the help we can get - If you need to get out of here, your brother can heal up at the prison. We can figure it out, but only if you help us get out of here in one piece.”

His answer was immediate. It was risky, but he knew he trusted Rick ten times more than the Governor or any of his people. It wasn’t a hard choice to make.

“…I’ll help you.”

And with that, the deal was made. Giving Rick the best route out, Connor drew his gun once more, though the conversation behind him caught his attention. Glenn was talking about Merle, and Daryl looked totally taken aback.

“My brother’s the Governor..?”

“No. He’s his lieutenant or something – he’s the one who did this to us. He set a walker on me, nearly had us executed.”

“He’s the one who beat the shit out of Murphy.” Connor cut in, “Nasty piece of work”

“Stay out of this-”

 “We don’t have time for this, Daryl. We need you here, with us.”

He did his best to argue his case, but every time Daryl spoke, Rick would interrupt, tell him how important he was to this particular mission. The look on his face and the desperation in his tone was something Connor could sympathise with, though he didn’t have time to give up that thought; on Rick’s word they were on the move once more, with another smoke bomb filling the street and the sound of gunfire following them as they moved to the first cover spot they could find. The frightened yells of Woodbury’s residents could barely be heard over the sound of gunshots and the hiss of the bombs as they continued to spew out thick clouds of white smoke.

“Rick – at the end of this street is the wall, but you go round to the left and there’s a weak point. Y’should be able to fight through easily, if you’re careful.”

“Alright – on my mark, we move.”

“You go, I’ll give you all some cover fire”

“No, we have to stick together.”

“He’s right.” Said Connor, keeping an eye on the street as he spoke. “There’s a lot more of them then there are you lot. Let him cover you, I’ll do the same on my way back down.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I need to get Murphy. We’ll meet you somewhere, I’ll be right behind you. Give Daryl some cover too.”

In the few seconds they had to decide, Connor’s plan was approved, and put into motion soon after. With another smoke bomb set off and the prison group on the move, Connor headed off in the same direction, following Daryl’s lead.

“Where is he?” He asked, loud enough to be heard but still low enough to be undetected.

“There’s a house on the street over, he’s there.”

“Can you get him from here?”

“Aye. Give me two minutes and we’ll be back here.”

“You got a minute. Go. Now.”

With a nod of thanks, Connor took off, being careful to keep low as he headed towards their room. A sharp blow to the back of the head as he turned a corner, however, meant his journey came to an abrupt end. Rapidly his vision faded into dark shapes and blurred lights, until it completely faded to black.

 

 


	28. When the lights day

When he’d first come around, he’d thought that the sound of gunfire had been in his dream. But the longer he was sat up and gradually waking up, when the sounds of shots didn’t fade, Murphy’s medicated mind quickly realized that something was very, very wrong. He was alone, and with his gun now mysteriously at his bedside, he made himself get up and out of bed. His limbs were stiff and heavy, his grip weak as he went for his weapon. His head was still foggy, the last dose of painkillers he’d taken still making their way through his system. There was a small amount of discomfort in his chest, but he ignored it with ease as he made for the door. What the fuck was going on? Had walkers managed to get into the town somehow? He didn’t know where Connor was…where was it he said he’d be? A card game. He hadn’t said where, but perhaps he’d stayed there. Or perhaps he’d thrown himself right into the fray like the fucking idiot hero he was.

The streets were filled with a strange white smoke, and all the firing was coming from one end of the town; the wall. Seeing someone run towards him, he struggled to make out who it was until they were right in front of him. Grabbing his arm, the Governor pulled him to the side.

“It’s good you’re here, we need all the help we can get.”

“Have you seen my brother? What the fuck’s going on?”

“We’re under attack.” Came the solemn reply, though it was only one reply to two questions. Shaking his head in a weak attempt to clear it, Murphy pressed him once more.

“Connor – have you seen him? Was he at the wall?”

This question put an entirely new expression on the Governor’s face, as if he’d been hoping Murphy wouldn’t ask after his brother.

“He was in the fight, yes – helping the others to find the intruders-”

“Where are they now, your guys? I can help you.”

Opening his mouth slightly, the Governor went to say something when he read Murphy’s expression, reconsidering what he was going to tell him, instead just nodding, and pointing to the far right of the wall.

“You head down there, tell them I sent you. Follow their lead.”

He did as instructed, making himself known to the few men he’d briefly been introduced to and listening to his orders, although even holding gun steady was proving hard enough. He felt dizzy and tired, like he’d been completely sapped of energy, and while they were used to running on little to nothing, this was a different, forced kind of fatigue. And although it was slowly starting to wear off, he still felt groggy as hell.

As time passed and their orders changed, he became more and more alert, more aware of what was going on. He had no idea what time it was, but when he was pulled off towards the arena sometime after joining the fight, he didn’t argue. Perhaps they’d caught one of the intruders there. Perhaps it was all over and the Governor wanted to bring everyone up to speed. Whatever it was, as he joined the massing crowds, he searched for his brother, scanning every face looking for him. Not here yet.

“Come on Conn’, where the fuck are you.” He muttered to himself, moving aside to let someone pass him before heading further into the hordes of people. The Governor was saying something about terrorists, how the one’s who’d attacked Woodbury tonight had come here looking for blood and that there was a traitor in their midst. Murphy couldn’t see who was in the middle of the arena, and to be honest he didn’t much care; every minute that he couldn’t find his brother was a minute that he began to grow concerned. He knew it was misplaced, that Connor would show up any second, but he didn’t know how long the firefight had been going on before he’d woken up, and it’d been hours since he’d last seen his brother. Even a quick ‘Murph’, I’m okay but I’m needed over here’ would be fine. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere, and that worried Murphy more than he cared to admit.

The crowd was riled up as it was, but when something hit the ground some feet away and plumes of fresh smoke began to fill the space, all hell broke loose. People were yelling and screaming in fear and panic as someone began firing. It was complete chaos – no one knew who was shooting or in which direction they should go. Murphy just did his best not to get knocked down as he made his way away from the arena, holding an arm up to his nose and mouth to try and keep from coughing, though by the time he’d reached clear air, the coughs that racked his body sent a fresh shot of pain through his chest cavity over and over. Taking a minute to catch his breath and get himself together, Murphy moved out of the way of running residents, leaning into a doorway and letting his eyes close. So, someone had looked at Woodbury and thought they could take it…whoever it was, they either had a death wish or were actually deluded enough to think they could.

No one really slept that night. If he wasn’t helping to check out parts of the town for anyone who may have been hiding, he was helping to reinforce the weak point in which the intruders had gained entry, and putting down any walkers they came across. But even with the sunrise and the light of day arriving, there was still no sign of Connor. His ribs were dying for another dose of pain meds, and despite his determination to keep looking, eventually one of the Governor’s henchmen told him to crash, and that they’d send Connor his way once he showed up. He didn’t like it much, but he was either going to pass out in their room or in the middle of the street. Deciding on only a half dose this time, Murphy let himself sleep finally. Not waking again until around three o’clock in the afternoon.

When he turned his head and saw Connor’s bed still empty, his first reaction was to be pissed; Connor had been a good soldier, but what the fuck made him think not checking in with him was a good idea? They both knew the unspoken rule – just let the other know you’re okay. That’s all.

His first port of call was the infirmary; nine men had been injured in the previous night’s attack, but Connor wasn’t among them, nor had any of them seen him recently.

Next was the wall. No sign there either.

Eventually, Murphy made his way to the Governor’s home, or office, or whatever it was. He’d only heard about it from his brother. Knocking on the door, he opened the door without invitation. The place was empty, or at least the first room was. Calling out, Murphy’s turned as a door further in opened. And a moment later, the man himself appeared, though his demeanour was totally different from the welcoming southerner he’d learned to eye with suspicion. He held himself with an almost automated authority, a bandage now covering his right eye. When he looked at Murphy, he was sure he actually just looked right through him. When he finally broke the ice, his voice was low, quiet, and harsh. Impatient, like Murphy had overstayed his welcome by hours instead of seconds.

“What.”

“What happened to your-”

“What do you want.” The repeated words were slow and enunciated, but for once, Murphy didn’t retort back with something clever.

“I wanted to know what you had Connor doing last night, where he would have been when we were attacked. I haven’t seen him and I wanted to check in…with...him…”

The Governor didn’t seem to be listening – even when Murphy’s sentenced trailed off, he didn’t prompt him to continue. Just pushed his hand into his pocket, each movement so slow it was as if the moment was being played frame by frame.

“Do you have any clue who it was..? Who attacked the town?”

“Terrorists.” The Governor replied, his voice so quiet now under his hanging head, Murphy had a hard time understanding what he’d said at first. Lifting his face, he cast his remaining eye to the Irishman, taking one or two heavy steps forward as he brought his hand out of his pocket, handing something to Murphy a second later.

“Why do you have these?” He asked after a moment of confirmation, Connor’s rosary beads unusually heavy in his palm.

“I took them from him.” The Governor said simply, his expression not betraying anything but numbness and regret. Nonetheless, Murphy wasn’t quite following. Connor had loaned his beads to people in the past when they’d needed them, but he’d never let someone take them.

“Why? Where is he?”

“Being burned.”

He was reciting facts now, in a voice that delivered words and sentences in such a cold, emotionless way, Murphy was certain that he’d misheard.

“…Burned? The fuck are you on about-”

“He was shot and killed last night.” The Governor replied, fixing Murphy with a look of faint remorse and sincerity. “I saw it happen.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Murphy – but your brother’s dead.”  
  


 


	29. Remember, remember

When he was younger, maybe nine or ten, he thankfully could never remember what it was that had him waking up drenched in sweat, with his heart going a mile a minute and his entire body tensed almost painfully as he came into consciousness. But every time, he’d wake up to the same person firmly shaking him, whispering words of comfort to him as he calmed down. When they were really young, despite their best efforts both boys would fall asleep again soon after. Although, as they got older and Murphy became more and more embarrassed about the fact he still had nightmares, Connor grew used to waking him up and just sitting with him, sometimes talking, sometimes just sat in quiet as the rain hit the window panes as hard as war drums.

Sometimes he asked what it was that Murphy remembered seeing, and more often than not it was the same thing; a tall, haggard looking man dressed all in black slowly entering the room. So slowly, with every movement so specific and deliberate, with eyes clouded like spider eggs just open wide and staring, until eventually he was so close Murphy could describe the smell of his clothes and feel how chilled his hands were as they wrapped around his throat. Connor remembered some mornings when his brother would get up complaining of neck pain, but he’d always assumed he’d just slept at an awkward angle. After hearing such a vivid description, however, even Connor had to admit that he felt just a little freaked out when he eventually went back to bed, the clock reminding him of how little sleep he was going to have now, how tired he be tomorrow.

Gradually, as they got older, sitting up talking and distracting his twin with amusing stories until five in the morning became less of a chore; they both learned to appreciate the power nap during classes neither deemed too important, and very slowly but surely , Murphy began to grow out of the night-terrors. Of course, if you mentioned to him that they wouldn’t come back at full swing until he hit his mid-thirties or so, haunting him with a very different kind of nightmare, he probably would have laughed in your face. Nowadays the whole world was nightmarish in itself; who was anyone to judge anymore?

X

 “Connor, I’m gonna fuckin’ murder you – I’m fuckin’ serious, when I find you you’re gonna wish-”

“Murph’!”

Turning sharply on his heel, it took Murphy a moment to locate his brother’s hiding spot; in his twelve year old wisdom, he’d managed to wriggle up onto one of the upper shelves of the barn, neatly hidden behind odds and ends and pots of paint. Giving him a cheeky, devilish grin, Connor gave him a wave.

“’Y’alright down there?”

“The fuck’re you doin’?”

“Pissing you off – is it working?”

“Aye, it is. Get the fuck down will you? Ma’s goin’ off on one, wanted me to come find you.”

After some brief, theatrical consideration, Connor nodded slowly.

“…Aye, she is. Why d’you think I’m hidin’ in a fuckin’ barn? Could always join me, you know. Plenty of room.”

“Looks a bit cosy…Connor, come on, else I’m gonna get my ass handed to me for shit you’ve done.”

“You know, it sounds mighty temptin’ Murphy, really - but, I’ve got a feelin’ you’ll be just fine. You’re a big tough lad, s’character buildin’”

“I swear I’m gonna drag you down from there and give you a beatin’ so bad your kids’ll be born bruised”

“Big promises! Come on then, come and get me, I’m not goin’ any place”

With a frustrated exhale, eventually Murphy gave in and began the long climb to the upper level of the barn, with Connor awkwardly trying to shift himself around and knocking two cans of paint off the shelf in the process.

“For fucks sake…you’re a fuckin’ moron, y’know that?”

“You share my genes pretty closely– you sure you wanna be insultin’ me like that? What does it say about you?”

“That I got the better deal – now get the fuck out of there, I can’t reach you”

“Murph’, how the fuck do you think I got over here? You can too, stop bein’ such a wuss”

“Oh aye – breakin’ my neck jus’ to prove something to my idiot brother, definitely worth-”

The distant sound of their backdoor slamming shut stunned both boys into silence, and needless to say, soon enough both were crammed up against the wall, hidden from the view as their mother approached the barn, all guns blazing. Unable to look at each other without setting off a fit of laughter, both twins had hands clamped over their mouths as their names were yelled out. It was hours before they finally re-emerged, now completely soaked from the storm that had come on during their escapades, with their shoes and school uniforms caked in dirt and mud, but even as they were sent to their room in apparent shame, as soon as the door closed, neither could hold in their amusement any longer.

X

It’d been a long, tense evening. They’d both known they were in trouble, and both had spent most of their time after school loitering around town smoking, trying to put off going home for as long as possible. Dinner was a deadly quiet affair, with only the occasional glimpse up at their mother as they ate.

No, it was afterwards that everything had really kicked off, and as they often did, things escalated quickly. Voices were raised, curses shot across the room like bullets, with the return fire just as deadly. After yelling one too many times, Murphy was ordered up to their room alone, and up he went, slamming as many doors as he could before making it to the bedroom. Connor joined him about half an hour later, by which point his brother had only just begun to cool off. Closing the door gently, Connor collapsed back onto his bed, rubbing both hands over his face in weary frustration.

“How long are we under house arrest for this time?” Murphy said at last, looking over from his place on his own bed. He didn’t get his answer right away, so he tried again.

“Conn’.”

“I heard you.”

“Then answer me.”

Shifting over and propping himself up on his elbow, Connor opened his hands with a shrug.

“We’ve gotta come straight back here from school, no exceptions, and we’re not allowed outta the house over weekends.”

“Oh come on – that’s so fuckin’ unfair! How long for?”

“Till May.”

“…That’s two months – that’s two full months, she’s gone off the fuckin’ rails. I’m not stayin’ in this house for that long, fuck that!”

“I suggested it.” Connor replied quietly once Murphy had had his outburst. Turning towards him from where he’d gotten up to pace the floor, Murphy gave his brother a look of total disbelief.

“And what the fuck made you think that bein’ grounded for two months was a good plan?”

"We compromised.” He replied simply. “S’our birthday in a few weeks. I said, if she let us do somethin’ that night, then she could add on an extra fortnight. It was the best I could do, so don’t start givin’ me shit.”

Scrubbing blunt nails through his hair, Murphy certainly didn’t look pleased at the agreement. Birthday or not, they were both going to go mad cooped up here for that long. Connor just glared right back, daring the other to start another argument with him.

“Got anythin’ else you wanna add?”

“Oh, aye – I’ve got plenty.”

“Well fuckin’ save it. The way that was goin’ she was ready to lock us up till we’re fifty.”

With a loud, exasperated groan, Murphy unceremoniously sank onto his bed and fell back, the noise following him. The longer it went on, the funnier Connor found it, until he found himself smirking as he picked up a shoe and chucked it at his twin. He took the hit, but he did sit up a second later and throw it back.

“Shut the fuck up - Y’sound like a walrus havin’ a stroke”

“Well maybe I’d sound a little happier if I wasn’t just sentenced to two fuckin’ months stuck here with you.”

“Hey, it’s because of me we get to do somethin’ for our fifteenth. Count your fuckin’ blessings, you ungrateful little shit.”

Finally managing a laugh of some kind, Murphy shifted over so that he was sat back against his headboard.

“How long d’you reckon she’ll be pissed for?”

“It’s Ma.” Said Connor with a playful shrug. “She’s always pissed in one way or another.”

X

In their defence, the other guy had hit first. But the only problem with starting a fight with one of the Macmanus brothers was that you ended up fighting both. If there’s one thing the boys were good at, it was fighting; their technique – if you could even call it that – was sloppy, random, and amateur. But they were strong for seventeen, and they knew how to play off each other, defend each other, and work together as punches were thrown and kicks delivered. And even sitting in detention together, they could almost always shrug it off, inspecting each other’s injuries with curiosity and a level of admiration.

Gingerly pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy watched as Connor winced at the pain, giving him a sympathetic smirk as he dropped his hand.

“D’you reckon it’s broken?”

“Nah, doesn’t look it – looks like your pretty face is gonna last another year.”

“Aw, Murph’ – you think I’m pretty? I’m touched.”

“What was his problem anyway? The guy who hit you, what was his deal?”

Rolling his eyes, Connor slouched back in his chair as he pushed his feet up onto the desk in front of him.

“It was nothin’ – a misunderstanding.”

“Aye – a misunderstanding that gave me a black eye. What’d you do?”

“He was laughing with his friends, makin’ fun, that sort of shit. I just let him know I wasn’t havin’ it, all polite and gentle like.”

“Oh, real gentle.” Murphy remarked with a chuckle, but he didn’t let up just yet.  “Makin’ fun of you?”

“Nah.”

“Who then..?”

“You, actually.”

“You started all this because of that? Jesus, Conn’ – just ignore ‘em.”

“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if you heard what I did. Besides, I’m not gonna let some douchebag take the piss outta my _baby brother_ ”

“Fuck off.”

Kicking Connor’s feet off of the table, Murphy shook his head and gestured around them at the detention hall.

“Well ether way, we’re stuck in here for the rest of the week. You happy?”

“Worth every minute.” Connor grinned. “Come on, be honest Murph’ – it felt good to fuck ‘em up a bit.”

“Just a little.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Replacing his feet on the desk, Connor watched as Murphy carefully prodded the swollen area around his eye, wincing every now and then, and taking him by surprise when he suddenly spoke again. He didn’t look at him when he did, but he heard him clearly enough.

“…Thanks, Conn’. Really.”

“No problem. Christ knows someone’s gotta look out for you.”

Shooting a sceptical look across at him, Murphy smiled knowingly.

“Don’t go makin’ this soppier than it has to be.”

“I’m not, I’m not – but let’s be honest, oh brother of mine, what would you do without me?”

 

 

 


	30. C'est la mort

The stillness that enveloped his was a cold, terrible one. It was the sort of chill that seizes your heart and steadily keeps it from beating, the kind that turns your blood to ice and your saliva to ash in your mouth. The Governor said something else, but nothing was being registered. Steadying himself with both palms flat on the nearest surface, Murphy tried to quell the growing wave of nausea seeping through him like fresh sewage. There was just static, white noise. He couldn’t hear anything but those words, over and over again;

‘He was shot and killed…your brother is dead’

It felt as though the air had been completely sucked from his lungs, leaving them incapable of ever functioning again. Nothing felt comfortable, standing or sitting or lashing out, nothing was right. He didn’t trust the Governor and some part of him wanted to grab him and beat the shit out of him until he told the truth. Told him where his brother really was, because there was no way in hell that he wasn’t lying. There was no way Connor was gone.

But as he shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, as he searched the other man’s face for any sign he was leading him on, the only thing he found was a sincere look of regret, of condolence. And when Murphy went for him and grabbed him by the collar and shook him and yelled and screamed at him, all the Governor did was apologise again. Apologise for his loss. Tell him he understood. He looked and looked and found nothing, found no evidence that he wasn’t being honest.

Eventually releasing him with shaking hands, Murphy backed away, with the Governor telling him where he could go to say goodbye, telling him where the dead were remembered. But that word still didn’t resonate with him. ‘Dead’…it was so permanent, and despite the blood both twins had on their hands, death had never been something they’d really thought of as effecting either of them personally. There was a risk of it, but like a risk with anything; it’d never happen to them. Always to someone else, but never to them. Never to Connor.

He ran out of the door and down the street, knocking into people and ignoring their angry yells. He turned corners and tripped over more than once, only stopping once he was completely alone and couldn’t hold it together any more. Practically falling to his knees, he half curled in on himself, the wooden beads being clutched in his hand impressing sore dents into his skin as he tried to force himself to breathe through his fractured chest, though all he could manage were violent, shallow intakes of air as this new reality began to fight with what his gut was telling him, as his heart pounded now only with necessity. Connor was not dead, he couldn’t be. But the Governor had no reason to lie about it. He had no reason, not one Murphy could see, and Connor hadn’t come back last night and he hadn’t found Murphy that morning and he wasn’t anywhere Murphy had looked. He wouldn’t have left Woodbury without him, and that only left one other option.

But it wasn’t one Murphy was ready for. It wasn’t something he’d ever be ready to hear. They’d been inseparable their entire lives, there was never one without the other. But this time he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t gone with him, why? Because he’d been too fucking tired? He’d been too tired to fight with Connor, to protect him, and now what? Because he’d been thinking about himself, his brother was dead. Connor was gone. Connor was gone. Connor was _gone._ He needed to tell him how sorry he was, how he should have been with him, how he should have stepped up and been better. All he’d done was complain since being brought here and all Connor had done was look out for them. He’d put up with him and still been there, and the one time it had mattered, Murphy couldn’t be fucked.

What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t bury him, couldn’t say goodbye. He could pray for him, but in that exact moment Murphy knew there was no point. Why pray to someone who couldn’t have intervened, just once? Who could have prevented this, but sat by and did nothing? He wouldn’t even entertain the thought that ‘it was God’s plan’, that there was a reason for this. There was no reason, this wasn’t reason and it wasn’t logic and it wasn’t fair. He needed his brother, and the God they’d both trusted and looked to for answers was suddenly so frighteningly distant and surreal to Murphy that it only added to his pain. He had so many questions and no one to answer them, and now here he was. Alone, with only his grief for company.

He didn’t know how long he’d been outside when he felt a hand touch his back. He didn’t flinch away or even really acknowledge them at all, nor did they say anything to him at first, because for a cruel second or so, he thought it was his twin. He assumed it’d be Connor coming to find him. Come to tell him it’d all been an awful mistake and he was really okay, and Murphy would have the chance to hug him and tell him how terrified he’d been that he’d never see him again. But it wasn’t him. And it never would be again.

Taking another, painful breath, he eventually moved out of their reach and got to his feet, with them straightening up with him, looking through concerned eyes as he roughly wiped his own on the back of his free hand, the other still gripping the rosary beads in a fist so tight, nothing manmade could prize his fingers open. When he didn’t look around or even say anything, the woman made the first move, speaking softly.

“I saw you run back here an hour or two ago, didn’t see you come out again…are you alright?”

Finally lifting his head round to face her, Murphy saw that she was older – around fifty five or so – with fair hair pulled back into a loose bun. A small silver cross around her neck was the next thing that caught his eye, but he made no comment on it, or on anything she said. Just shook his head with a movement so subtle it’d be easy to miss. Offering him a gentle smile, she introduced herself as Charlotte, though Murphy didn’t give her his name in return, nor did much more of what she said really get through to him. When he promptly ignored her, she decided not to press the matter, instead she just moved on soon after, though Murphy didn’t wait around to hear what she had to say.

“Can I ask…I know a few people were killed last night, did you maybe- wait, wait!”

 Not bothering to turn back around, Murphy made his way back into the centre of the town. He didn’t have a destination in mind, didn’t know where there was he could go. Their…’his’ room wasn’t an option. This entire place didn’t seem like an option anymore, it all felt so wrong, so ill-fitting for him. Each footstep didn’t feel like it belonged to him, the heat from the sun didn’t seem to really touch him. He didn’t know what he was meant to do now. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, because that would make it too real. Right now, there was a chance that the Governor had made a horrible mistake, that he’d seen someone else die and that Connor would come out of one of the buildings and tease him for crying and everything would be alright.

It wasn’t until much later that evening that Murphy made himself go back. He invited himself back into the Governor’s office without warning or apology. Looking up from whatever he was holding, the Governor said nothing as the door closed behind the Irishman; just sat there, expecting another tirade. It was obvious that Murphy was angry – furious even – in his grief, in how he stood and the look that had soaked itself into his eyes and tightened his jaw. But he was calm, for the moment. Still, when he spoke and his voice was nothing more than a firm, low enquiry, it was slightly surprising.

“You said you saw it happen.”

“I did.”

“Did he turn? Did he become…” As his sentence trailed, the Governor quickly noticed how thin this ice really was. Murphy wasn’t ready to be talking to anyone about his loss, and yet the world they now inhabited meant that there were answers that required immediate clarification. He shook his head, his voice raspy and scratched from some kind of upset of his own.

 “…No. He was shot in the head. He died instantly.”

The image that went through Murphy’s mind only drove the stake in deeper, but he kept himself composed remarkably well.

“Who did it?”

Fixing him with a hard stare, Murphy took another step towards the desk. He had questions, and although he couldn’t answer all of them, he knew the Governor could shed some light on at least a few.

“Tell me who did it. Who shot him?”

His tone left no doubt in the Governor’s mind that he was one step away from a violent outburst. And had they been anywhere else, and had he not been dealing with a loss of his own, perhaps he would have let him indulge the impulse.

“One of the men who broke in.”

“What do we know about them?”

Getting up from his seat, the Governor replaced the photo he’d been looking at, standing the frame up carefully. Murphy didn’t try to see what the picture was of or who, he just kept his eyes on the man before him.

“They have a camp, not far from here.”

“Where?”

“There’s a prison a few miles out.  It looks like they’ve cleared their way in, made themselves at home. It’s smart; the fences that kept people in now keep biters out...”

When he glanced over and saw the look on Murphy’s face, the Governor gave him a frown.

“What?”

“The prison…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “What did he look like? The man who shot my brother?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me”

“Not until you give me an answer. You know who they are, don’t you?”

Treading carefully, Murphy nodded.

“Aye, I do. We found the prison, me and Conn’…Connor. We were the ones who cleared one of the blocks-”

“By yourselves?”

“Yeah. And then they showed up, forced us out.”

The half-truth seemed to go over undetected, and the Governor looked happy enough with the answer.

“Nine of my men were injured last night, three were killed, not including your brother. I intend to go to the prison, avenge the people here who lost loved ones, and get justice for the people who were hurt. These are good people here, they’d never hurt a fly. Of course, we have the right to defend ourselves, but they were the ones who threw the first stone. And I have a feeling, after everything you’ve sacrificed already and what happened last night, you won’t have to consider my offer too long.”

“What offer..?”

“Come with me. To the prison. You know the layout, you could be a great help.”

And he was right. After a moment he nodded, his answer pushing a small, pleased smile across the Governor’s lips.

“I’m in.”

 


	31. The blood of Cu Chulainn

Muffled voices gradually became clearer, though it the crackling pain in the side of his head that had Connor groaning to himself. It took a minute for his eyes to come into focus, and for him to realize he was staring up at a prison cell wall. He wasn’t dead…that was a plus. But the wave of dizziness that came over him when he sat up told him that he’d taken the brunt of some kind of head injury. There wasn’t much he remembered, including why he was back at the prison or how he’d gotten there. When addressing his brother got him nothing, Connor carefully got to his feet, fully expecting Murphy to be on the bed above, though when he wasn’t he didn’t seem worried. He’d be around here somewhere; now all that was left to do was find him.

He’d only gotten a few feet out of his cell when a familiar voice pulled him to a stop, and a hand came down on his shoulder as Hershel greeted him.

“You shouldn’t be up and about just yet.”

The sight of the old man filled Connor with a strange sense of relief, and he replied in kind, returning the smile he was being shown.

“I was never a fan of doing what I’m told…s’good to see you”

“And you.”

“How’d I get here..?”

“That I can’t tell you, but when I see Rick, I’ll send him your way. He’ll be able to tell you, I’m sure. Now go on back to your cell; you suffered a nasty blow to the head, you need to rest”

After a pause he nodded, dropping the issue for the time being. Murphy was probably getting information anyway. They’d all be on the same page eventually.

“Aye, I hear you. Hey – if you see Murph’, can you tell him to come see me? I need to talk to him”

Had it not been for Connor closing his eyes briefly to try and stop a second bout of dizziness, he might had caught the sudden flicker of doubt and hesitation across Hershel’s face. Instead of answering him, he just urged Connor back to his cell, waiting until he was laying down once more before leaving him to find Rick. Gingerly touching the side of his head, Connor hissed through his teeth at how tender and sore it still was, before reaching into the top of his shirt for his rosary.  When he only felt skin, he frowned as he patted down his pockets and his neck once more. It was gone.

The sinking feeling that accompanied his confusion only escalated later that afternoon when Rick came by his cell, standing in the doorway and regarding the former prisoner with his usual air of caution.

“Hershel mentioned you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah…yeah, ah…” Getting up, Connor kept a hand on the top bunk’s mattress as he stabilized himself.

“I don’t remember anythin’ from the other night, at Woodbury – I was hopin’ you could fill in some blanks? Or if you know where Murphy is, I’d be grateful if you could help me out”

Rick looked as though he’d been expecting the questions, but didn’t look any happier about having to answer them. It seemed the brothers still had some trust to earn.

“On our way out, you went to get your brother. You were hit in the head, knocked unconscious – Daryl was the one who got you out, and it was the rest of us who got you back here, Glenn, Maggie, me…you can stay until you’re ready to travel. I don’t know how everyone feels about you bein’ back here. I’m going to talk to them, get their opinions, and if they’re happy for you to stay, then you can.”

“We appreciate that. And you know, I know there was some friction before, but after bein’ at Woodbury-”

Rick interrupted him, cutting him off abruptly and with a frank harshness that took Connor a moment to see through. “There is no ‘we’.”

“Come again?”

“Your brother isn’t here.”

His grip on the side of the mattress tightened as he registered what he’d just been told; he knew Rick wasn’t kidding, nor was he lying. Now Connor needed to do was figure out exactly what it was he felt – anger? Yes. Fear, worry, impatience? Yes. Rick didn’t look like he’d been expecting anything less.

“The fuck do you mean, he’s not here? What’re you sayin’, you brought me back without him..?”

“You were there, you saw what we were up against; we didn’t have the time to go on a wild goose chase looking for your brother. Daryl brought you back, without him you would have been left for dead-”

“You should have made him leave me behind, none of you wanted us here in the first place, none of you gave a shit before – why now?”

“We didn’t have _time_ to argue. You were injured, we had to make a decision, and we brought you back. You don’t like it? You can leave. I’m not stopping you.”

Connor was angry, yes…but he didn’t move. He knew he wouldn’t last five minute on the outside, and despite every muscle in his body telling him to leave the prison and find his way back to Woodbury, he slowly sank back onto his bed, steepling his fingers as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“…You didn’t want either of us here before.” He said at last, stopping Rick in his tracks as he attempted to leave. “What changed? Why’d you say yes?”

He didn’t get his answer right away; Rick actually seemed to give this one some consideration, his left thumb hooking into his belt loop as he turned back to face Connor.

“…I don’t trust your brother. Murphy. He’s hot headed, he’s over emotional, and he’s a liability-”

“He’s my family.” Connor cut in, unable to keep the bite from his voice.

“And we were both in here before this began. What makes you think I’m anymore trust worthy than him? What if it’d been your family? Your son?”

“That is not the same thing.” Rick snapped. “We let you stay after you proved yourself when Hershel lost his leg, you put yourself at risk when you didn’t need to. You’ve got your head on your shoulders, but Murphy? He’s reckless. Overemotional, and dangerous-”

“Everyone’s dangerous nowadays- No, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. I did that for Hershel because it was the right thing to do, and Murphy would have done the same-”

“I doubt that.”

“Doesn’t matter what you doubt. Murphy’s a good man, a loyal one. And you don’t know shit about either of us.”

“The funny thing about prison is that they don’t tend to put good men there.”

“And the funny thing about American’s is that they’re so fucking blind to how shit their justice system is.”

“You’re saying neither of you were meant to be in here?”

“I’m saying bad things happen to good men all the time.”

Casting a look outside the cell both ways, Rick eventually glanced back at Connor.

“I’ve asked you this before. What did you do?”

Letting his eyes fall from the sheriff to the floor, Connor pushed his fingers through his hair as he weighed his options, and considered how to word his answer. He might as well be honest; after all, it wasn’t as though he was fighting to stay here anymore.

“…We killed people, back in Boston. Criminals. Only criminals, mob bosses, gangsters…scum of the Earth. And then, we got caught. Got put in the Hoag for a while, then got moved here….and then the world went straight t’Hell anyway.”

While that hadn’t been what Rick was expecting to hear, he didn’t exactly react – not outwardly, anyway. Instead he just thought for a moment as he took a step further into the cell.

“How did it start?”

Christ, it felt like so long ago now – so many years since the brothers had first become the Saints, since they’d first coined their calling card, first met Smecker, and the last time they’d seen Rocco. What about Doc, and Romeo? Where were they now, if they’d even made it…Nonetheless he recounted the story with a slight, nostalgic smirk.

“Me and my brother, we were celebratin’ St Patty’s in this local bar, and…these guys come in. Huge, Russian fuckers, and they start tellin’ everyone to get out, sayin’ some shit about the owner not bein’ able to renew his lease. The old man, he’s a real character, you know? He tells ‘em where to shove it, but they don’t take the hint. So, there’s a fight, me and Murph’ do our bit, and that’s that.  Until the next day anyway, when they show up at our place, out for revenge, all bandaged up. They take Murphy outside, tellin’ me they’re gonna shoot him then and there, so obviously, I kill the fucker before he can do anythin’.”

As he spoke, Connor had absently let his fingers trace the faded, raised scars circling his wrists.

“We hand ourselves in, give our statements – but it turns out, the guys we took out? Russian mob. Did the city some big favour by getting’ rid of them. Anyway, later we both…get the idea that, maybe we should carry it on. Find out where they all meet, start doing the world a few more favours here and there. And it just…escalated, I suppose.”

Of course, that wasn’t the whole story – but there was so much more he’d need to explain, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to share it all. Reminiscing was one thing, but remembering things like this with no on with you who experienced them as well was something of a lonely experience. 

Finally, Rick replied, with something Connor hadn’t been expecting.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“…I don’t know. Enough – why?”

“How many people have you killed?” He asked, ignoring the Irishman’s question.

“…Again, I couldn’t say. But before we started, neither of us had killed anyone. The first one was a matter of self-defence.”

There was a long stint of silence between the two men before Rick eventually nodded, and graced Connor with a look at last.

“I appreciate you tellin’ me.”

“…No problem.”

And with that, he skulked his way out of the cell once more, leaving Connor alone with his thoughts, and his now refreshed memories. He couldn’t remember anything of the night before, but the friend’s he’d lost and the death of his father were now at the forefront of his mind. Out of habit he turned to his left to ask Murphy how he was, though the reminder that he was very much alone here only made the feeling that much worse.

Outside the cell block, Rick soon found Hershel, who’d been expecting his final consensus on the Irishman.

“Well..?”

“Him and his brother…they were put in here for murder.”

This obviously hadn’t been the answer Hershel had been expecting or wanting to hear, but before he could say anything, Rick stopped him, glancing around to make sure no one was in ear shot.

“He told me they only killed criminals. Mob bosses, that kind of thing.”

“And you think that changes anything?”

The doubt in the old man’s tone made Rick hesitate, but finally he shook his head.

“He was telling the truth.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Why say you’d killed someone when you hadn’t? It makes sense for him to want to be on our good side – he could have said anything. Stealing, fraud, possession – but he just admitted to being a serial killer. He was being honest.”

“And because of that, you’re fine with him being here? Around our people?”

“He’s not going to stay – he got pretty angry with me when I told him his brother wasn’t here. He’ll be here another day or so and then he’ll be out of the doors.”

“But if he did decide he wanted to stay, or even come back – you’d let him?”

“I’d have to get the group’s feeling on it, tell them the truth. But, if it was up to me? I’d say yes. Give him a trial run, keep an eye on him. He could be useful in clearing out the other blocks, he’s good with a weapon, knows how to use them.”

“And if he came back with Murphy? Then what? Because I know you’re not fond of him, and I have a feeling neither are many of the people here.”

“…He’s got a temper on him, he’s rash, can be violent. But I think the circumstances for those becoming a problem are pretty specific. If they both came back, he’d be kept under lock and key as well. Maybe go back to the original agreement, give them both their own block. Keeps them around, but not around us.”

 


	32. The five stages

Midnight came and went, then one o’clock, then two, then three and four. But Murphy wasn’t trying to sleep. There was no way he’d be sleeping tomorrow night either, or the night following that. His mind refused to settle, continuing to remind him of the loss that had turned everything he knew, everything he could count on, inside out. He took his pain medication as he was meant to, but didn’t notice when it ran out. He ate when he absolutely had to, kept himself hydrated – but now he was just on autopilot. He only spoke when spoken to, and even then that was rare; he kept himself to himself, skirting around the issue of having to say goodbye for as long as his conscience would allow. He’d have to eventually, he knew that. But every time he wandered close to the cemetery – if you could call it that – he talked himself out of it. He wore Connor’s rosary over his, though it felt like it was made of lead, taking conscious effort to wear as though his brother’s soul hung to it desperately, weighing it down and reminding him.

The sky was just starting to be tinged with the light of dawn when Murphy stepped out into the street, and for once, it was completely still. The air was cool, and a welcome change to the humidity the daytime carried, and yet the only sound the breeze brought with it was the occasional rustle of leaves from the tree tops. Murphy didn’t know where he was going, but even in his sleep deprived state, he couldn’t stay in one place too long. His limbs were exhausted and his eyes ached for rest, but every time he closed them he’d replay that scene over and over again.

‘He was shot and killed…your brother is dead.’

He’d agreed to go with the Governor and take his own revenge, and on paper, that sounded like the best and only route he could take. But every time he thought about it, he’d hear Connor’s voice telling him to let it go. Not to hurt anyone just because he was hurting. And if Connor had been there with him, perhaps Murphy would have listened. But he wasn’t, and because of that, he could feel every other thought telling him to make Connor’s killer suffer slowly begin to take root. He’d _helped them._ Trusted them when they hadn’t trusted him, been the bigger person and left without a fight when he could see they needed the prison more than them. And they’d turned around and done this any way.

Walking the length of the street, Murphy eventually found himself near the arena, slowing to a stop once he’d reached the middle of the fight space. It was here he’d had his ass handed to him well and truly, here that Connor had defended him at his own risk. They’d been in Woodbury…what? A week? And so much had happened already. With a look around the perimeter, after a while he continued on his way, though at the first sight of a memorial, he could feel himself wanting to turn and run, just like every other time. This time, however, he forced himself to go on, passing each handmade cross or handpicked bouquet of half-dead flowers with careful consideration, and equal respect.  There weren’t as many as he first thought, but he still chose a place far away from the others.

Of course, he had nothing to signify that it was a makeshift grave – so after a bit of frustrated searching around trees and coming up empty handed, eventually he unearthed a large stone, half embedded in the dirt and heavy enough, and brought it back to the chosen space. And after some experimentation with smaller stones, soon he found one that left chalky trails across the larger rock, writing his brother’s initials onto it and throwing the smaller away as he crouched in front of it, and then sank back onto the grass.

It was so pathetic. The fact that this was all he could do to mark Connor’s death, the fact it was just a fucking rock when he deserved a mountain. Murphy wasn’t sure what to do now…he could pray, or he would have prayed, if he felt right in doing so. So for a long time, he just sat in silence, letting the air gradually warm around him and the light bring the scene around him into colour. He wasn’t sure when it was that he started thinking aloud instead of in his head, but the more he spoke, the harder it was to stop, though when he noticed the first few residents beginning to open their doors and wake up, he quietened his voice and switched into Gaelic as he continued.

“…I don’t know what I’m meant to be saying here, Connor. I mean…I’m talking to a fucking rock, pretending it’s you…pretending you can hear me. No, I know you can. This is probably the only time when I can talk as much as I like and you can’t tell me to shut up. And now’s the only time I wish you would…”

Doing his best to stave off the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat, Murphy tilted his head back and took a deep breath, trying to keep it together, though he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to happen. Pushing a hand through his hair as he hung his head once more, eventually he looked back at the grave, rubbing his hand over his face as he inhaled once more.

“I’m not going to say anything cliché, or I’ll try not to, not that it really matters, but…I need this to be a mistake. I need this to be some cosmic misunderstanding and you have to come back, because I keep thinking about it again and again, and this doesn’t make any fucking sense and it’s so unfair and I can’t…Jesus Christ, Connor. Why did you have to be so fucking stupid? Why couldn’t you have just let us leave, let us try our luck and not make us stay. And I know it’s because of me – because it’s always about me, isn’t it? It’s always been about keeping me out of trouble, keeping me safe, keeping me happy – well I get it now! I get it, Connor, I fucking get it, the world doesn’t revolve around me! If that’s what you wanted to hear, there it is. I’m the one who made us stop at the crash site, and I’m the one who wouldn’t stop bitching about this fucking place, and you were the one who made deals and put yourself on the line and you’re such a fucking _idiot_ , Connor…you could have been selfish. You could have dragged us out of there and if you had, if I knew this was the only other option, I wouldn’t have said a word. I get it, I know that you were just thinking of me, putting me first. I should have done that more, I should have gone with you to that stupid fucking card game, or I should have made you stay behind…You needed me, and…I let you down. And for that, I’m sorry, Conn’. I’m so, so _fucking sorry_.”

His voice had long since become a cracked, inaudible mess of a noise, his sentences punctuated with ugly, rough intakes of breath – even if someone could speak his language, they would have had a hard time understanding him. But no one was there, no one was there to comfort him or to witness him completely fall apart.

“…Connor, please. Please, just…I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything anymore, but I need you to forgive me…I need you, and I miss you so fucking much, you don’t…you don’t know how badly this feels. This wasn’t what was meant to happen, this wasn’t the plan…you had your stupid fucking plans and this wasn’t one of them, because if you were worried about me being in pain before? With fucked up ribs? That’s _nothing,_ completely fucking _nothing_ compared to this, and I need you to either not be dead and come back right now or make this all stop hurting. Because I can’t live like this, I can’t…you’re my brother. You were my brother. Ma’s gone, so’s Da, and Rocco and Romeo probably, and Smecker, and Doc. We were meant to do this together, and now what? What am I meant to do..?”

The last of his question was practically a whisper as he pushed himself to his feet, staggering a step or two away from the stone. Connor’s initials only stared back at him, even after he’d give it a violent kick accompanied by an animalistic yell of anger, the stupid thing just sat there and reminded him that all the shouting and screaming in the world wouldn’t change anything. That now he’d have to get used to depending on himself and no one else. That no amount of crying or fighting or pleading would bring Connor back. Struggling to catch his breath and compose himself, it was a long time before Murphy felt he could leave the space, leave the graves and find out when they were due to leave for the prison. His departure was well timed; as he left, he passed a young girl and who he assumed to be her mother, fresh flowers in one hand and her daughter’s in the other. Stepping back into the sun, Murphy headed back to his room, head low and eyes stinging, and a heaviness on his heart he’d hoped talking to his brother would have alleviated. If anything, he felt worse.

He washed, got dressed, and forced himself out of the door for the second time that day. He needed to see the Governor, needed to know the plan and when it’d be set in motion. However, when he was called in and briefed about what was going to be happening, his temper began to boil once more when he was told he wouldn’t be involved.

“The fuck are you talking about? I going with you, that’s what you told me-”

“You won’t be needed, not for this.” The Governor stated simply, and did the right thing in explaining himself before Murphy could completely flip.

“This is just a starter, if you like. Something to tell them that we’re not afraid to fight back. That we’re not weak. It’s what I have in mind after that that I’ll need you for, and that’s where your skillset will be put to the best use. Besides…you could use the rest. You need more time to heal, and most importantly, you need time to mourn.”

“I need to kill the motherfucker that killed Connor. That’s what I _need._ That’s what I have to do-”

“And you will. I promise you that.”

Placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, the Governor gave him a firm, reassuring look, his remaining eye carrying the sincerity of both.

“Give me your patience, and I’ll deliver you want you want.”


	33. Revelations

Somewhat surprisingly to Connor, they’d only taken to locking him in his cell at night. During the day he had free roam of the interior of the prison as well as the yard, and although he was still treated with a general air of wariness and caution, as the hours wore on and turned into days, the residents gradually began to let their guards down around him. It seemed that only having one convict around lessened the level of threat, and seeing him speaking to Hershel and laughing with him helped put their minds at ease. The eldest member of the group was a good judge of character, and so, without a word, he’d passed judgement that told the others that they were in no immediate danger, from the Irishman at least.  And while what Rick had told him had made him temporarily look at Connor differently, Hershel couldn’t forget the risk he’d taken in order to save his life, back when they really were complete strangers. He couldn’t guarantee that the situation wouldn’t change if Connor’s brother found his way back, but until that happened, he was happy to have Connor around.

 

It was fairly early one morning when a group meeting of sorts was called, and while Connor didn’t need to be told that he wasn’t included, he had to admit he listened just a little more carefully as he lay in bed, wiling the minutes away in idle thought. The general gist of the conversation was whether or not they should stay at the prison or leave before the Governor could retaliate for the attack on Woodbury. The group seemed divided on the matter, but with Rick not present and Daryl gone, Glenn eventually decided to take matters into his own hands and told them all they’d be staying for the time being. Pushing himself out of bed as the conversation grew a little quieter, Connor leaned on the railing outside of his cell, now no longer minding much if he got caught eavesdropping.

 

The Governor was still the topic of conversation, though it was when Beth asked a simple question that Connor’s entire perception of the man who’d been so welcoming to him back at Woodbury changed completely.

 

“How do we even know he’s going to come here?”

 

“He had heads. Humans and walkers, in aquariums. Kept them as trophies. He’s coming.”

 

Connor didn’t know who it was that had spoken, but the rest of the conversation was somewhat lost on him.

 

He’d kept trophies..? Heads? Who did that? Obviously the apocalypse would reap the worst characteristics in people, but that told Connor that not only had he badly misjudged their situation when they’d first arrived in Woodbury, but he owed Murphy a huge apology when they were finally reunited. While the threat of retaliation was a serious one, now that he knew this new, enlightening information, he figured he’d be gone by the time anything like that happened. And if the Governor did come here, that could mean he’d be able to get in, find Murphy, and get them both out before he returned.

 

At one point after he’d returned to his cell, he’d heard his name mentioned, but it was either ignored or shut down just as quickly. Glenn didn’t trust him, that much was certain – so it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he’d offered his help in fortifying the prison or not. But it didn’t stop him from doing so anyway. Making his way out into the sun, Connor let his eyes adjust for a moment before they found Carol. She was gathering what looked like large pieces of wood and metal, though when she noticed Connor approaching, she straightened up, and gave him a nod when he got closer.

 

“Morning.”

 

“Good mornin’ – need a hand?”

 

“…Sure. If you’re up to it.”

 

“Course. Where’re we takin’ them?”

 

“Up there, on the Catwalk.” Gesturing up and behind her, Connor followed her hand to the bridge between cell blocks.

 

“Not too far then…can I ask why?”

 

“Well, the plan is – if things kick off, these will just act as cover. If someone’s caught up there, they can just duck down behind them.”

 

“Aah, I see. Makes sense.”

And so, little by little, the chain link fence of the cat walk was lined with scrap metal and hunks of wood. Christ only knew where they’d found it all, but it’d get the job done none the less. Wiping his palms on his jeans, Connor gave Carol half a grin, which he was pleased to see returned a second or two later.

 

“Right; next job?”

 

“That was all of my orders, unfortunately. If you wanted something to do, maybe ask Glenn if he’s got anything for you.”

 

The look Connor gave her was enough to make her reconsider the point.

 

 “He doesn’t like me – that’s fair enough. To be honest, I’m surprised the majority of you haven’t demanded I be locked away twenty four seven until I leave.”

 

“Well, it’s because of what you did for Hershel. And so far, you’ve been pretty decent.  To be honest with you, by now? Not many of us have completely clean hands. You can only judge someone else so far before you start to become a hypocrite.”

 

His reply didn’t come for a short time, and she didn’t push for one. Instead, she proceeded with a question, not looking at him when she asked it.

 

“Do you think you will leave again? You seem like you could get on here, maybe join the group properly.”

 

“S’a nice offer, but…no. I’ve got to go back, get my brother. And I know for a fact he doesn’t want to be back here, you know?”

 

“Where you go, he goes, right?”

 

Glancing from the perimeter to her, he gave a small nod of confirmation.

 

“Just, don’t go getting yourself killed getting him back.”

 

“Nah – I’m more careful than that.”

 

When she raised a brow at his head wound, the two shared a laugh as he shook his head.

 

“A’right that was a minor slip. But, this time, nothin’s sneakin’ up on me. I’ll get him, and then we’ll be back on the road. No trouble.”

 

“You know, that’s one vague plan you’ve got there.”

 

“Yeah…still haven’t got it all figured out.”

 

“Well…perhaps you shouldn’t go looking for him until you have.”

 

As they pushed away from the fence and headed back down into the yard, Connor shot a quick glance her way. Without prompting, she continued with her point.

 

“I’m just saying – rushing into something because you’re anxious to get it done? That very rarely ends well, especially nowadays.”

 

“To be honest, I don’t have a lot of choice. I don’t know if he’s still in Woodbury, and if he is, I don’t know what’s going on with him; does the Governor think he was workin’ with me? With you lot? You can see how much of a mess they made of Glenn, damn near shot them both. If they’re doin’ that to him, or worse-”

 

He cut himself off, quickly shaking the thought from his mind, though Carol wasted no time in gently filling in the blanks.

 

“And if he’s dead..? You’d have risked your life going in there for nothing.”

 

“It wouldn’t have been a waste.”

 

“Alright, well – that’s worst case scenario. Either way, he’s bound to know by now you’re here. My bet? He’ll show up here before you’re fully healed.”

 

That was certainly a thought he’d rather entertain than his brother being beaten to death, and that was where Connor left the conversation as they both went their separate ways. Rick still made no appearance around the cell blocks, and for the next hour or two, things were quiet and still. He got something to eat and a bottle of water, though when he next stepped outside, he could have sworn it’d only gotten hotter.

 

The weather hadn’t changed a great deal since they’d arrived here; the days still meant hours of sweltering humidity – nothing new for this time of year – but in many ways, he knew that this was preferable to what the winter would mean for them. Seeing Hershel sat in the shade of one of the smaller buildings, Connor made his way over. Knocking on the wood of the bench, he waited for the nod of permission to sit with him before offering him some water. He accepted, and for a few minutes, they both sat in comfortable quiet, though the only sounds that accompanied the occasional chirrup of birdsong was the low, constant hum of the dead, groans and growls now all becoming one noise to ears that were accustomed to their presence.

 

Seeing his hand go to the wound on his head, Hershel eventually spoke, giving the other a nod.  


“How’re you feeling now?”

  
“Like I got hit in the head with a wreckin’ ball.” Connor replied with a pained smile. “Nah, I’m good – better than I was yesterday at any rate.”

 

“That’s good – any dizziness, nausea..?”

 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“How about you? You doin’ alright?”

 

“I’m just fine.”

 

“Good…Listen…I’m not going to assume I know what’s been said, about me bein’ here and all, but in a day or two, once I’m up to it, I’ll be outta here. Just in case you lot are gettin’ anxious or whatever. I’ve already spoken to Carol about it, and she seems on board with whatever happens, but I just thought I’d let you know.”

 

“That’s fine…where will you go? Do you have a plan, about what you’ll do? Because once you’re out of those gates, you’ll need one.”

 

“Once I’ve got Murphy, we’ll probably head to the nearest city, or somewhere close. Gather supplies, find somewhere to hold up a while.”

 

“So you’re going to Woodbury first?”

 

“Aye.”

 

At first, Hershel said nothing, only considered the answer with another nod.

 

 “Are you sure that’s wise?”

 

The question was met with only a furrowed brow at first, as if he’d slipped into another language halfway through his sentence.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I can only go on what I’ve been told, but those people took two of our group against their will. Glenn was badly beaten, and had a walker set on him. Maggie was attacked. Now I don’t know what they know about you or not, but if they know you’ve been brought back here, do you really think they’ll let you back in as if nothing happened? You went from working for them – for the Governor – to helping Rick and the others. Going back there isn’t a safe option anymore.”

 

“Are there any ‘safe options’ nowadays?”

 

“I’m just saying – your chances of getting shot upon arrival are just as good as you being allowed in and then being subjected to something similar to what Glenn went through-”

 

“Look…with all due respect, I know what you’re saying. I hear you, but…me not going back, not gettin’ Murphy? That’s not an option for me either. The only reason I haven’t gone back already is because stayin’ upright has been an Olympic achievement on its own”

 

“And you don’t think he’ll try and find you?”

 

“No, I know he will. But he doesn’t know I’m here, he doesn’t know about any of it.”

 

“But does the Governor know that? Or better yet, will he believe him if that’s what he tells him? The Governor knows about this place now. Will he really just let Murphy leave if he tries to?”

 

“I thought the same thing…What’re you suggestin’, exactly? Because I’ve gotta be honest, you haven’t done a great job of convincing me not to go.”

 

“I’m not suggesting anything, only warning you to be careful.”

  
“I appreciate that, but he’s…do you hear that?”

 

Both men turned towards the front gate, and the road beyond it. There was nothing out of the ordinary at first, but the sound of a car gradually getting closer and closer had them both watching the path like hawks. There was only one vehicle at first, and by the look on Hershel’s face, it wasn’t one he recognised.

 

“That one of yours…?”

 

“No. It isn’t.”

 

Looking back to the advancing vehicle as Hershel got up and made his way inside, for a hopeful few seconds, Connor expected Murphy to climb out of the driver’s side. But when, instead of his brother, the Governor got out, something made Connor’s blood run cold. The car was quite a distance away, outside the outer fence – but the silhouette was unmistakably that of the Governor. And by the way he lifted the hunting rifle he had in his hands, aiming it at nothing in particular but the prison itself; he realized how serious the situation really was.

 

If he’d hesitated a second longer, a concussion would have been the least of his worries. He’d missed the shot so narrowly, it didn’t quite register until others followed. While Connor had no immediate intention of moving from his place crouched behind a collection of water tanks, the sound of rapid firing had him rooted to the spot. He wasn’t armed in any way, not that it would have mattered much - however, as bullets flew through the air and members of the group came out to face the threat, Connor knew he had to get back inside and get a gun for himself. Bit by bit, he managed to make it back to the cell block, and, after not much argument, had a gun shoved at him as Maggie ran outside.

 

The firefight itself didn’t last long, and as far as he could see, no one was injured. The entire show seemed to be one of dominance, though when a larger, second vehicle came hurtling down the road and crashed through the fences like a fist through tracing paper, the entire group were transfixed. For a dreadful number of seconds, nothing happened, and yet, no one allowed themselves to breathe.

 

And then the back of the van snapped up, and moments later, one walker after another spilled out.

 

 


	34. The man with a broken compass

The Governor and his men returned, just as planned. The run to the prison had gone well, just as they’d planned. Though when Murphy asked what they’d needed the truck for, or anything specific about the plan itself, he’d been brushed off with an adequate reason, and he hadn’t thought much more on it. And for the next week, he did as he was told and took it easy, despite his protests at first. Ever since he was young, Murphy had always had a quick temper, and normally resorted to physical violence or lashing out when he needed an outlet. But then, his outlet had always given just as good as he’d got, indulging him in a scrap and letting him get it out of his system until they both lay on the living room floor or the glass outside, out of breath and worn out, but ultimately much calmer. Now, not only was his outlet no longer there, but with this broken, healing body of his, he couldn’t let his anger out without doing more damage to himself.

It was the most frustrating feeling in the world, like being trapped in an ever shrinking room. There was only so much Murphy could do, physically – if he wanted to stay pain free, at any rate – and as far as human interaction went, there was nothing but the bare minimum. He didn’t trust the Governor any more than he had when they’d first arrived here, but the enemy of your enemy became your ally, and now that both their sights were set on the prison, and for similar reasons, he found they had enough common ground to allow him to be civil towards him at the very least. Everyone else here paid him no interest, and he was more than happy to return the favour; his mood nowadays was less than pleasant at the best of times, and his expression a bitter carving in a stony setting.

Just about a week had gone by, with nothing of note happening – until, early one afternoon, a lone car rolled up to the entrance of the town, coming to a stop as guns were raised. As the driver got out, hands raised, a look of realization came over several of guards in quick succession. Martinez was the first to call out.

“So you finally came back; decided to show your face.”

“Aye – somethin’ like that.” Connor replied. “Hey, listen – I don’t want trouble, I’m not here to stir up anythin’, I just wanna talk to my brother. Could you maybe bring him out here?”

There was no hesitation as Martinez shook his head.

“No can do, man.”

“Come on – just five minutes, and we’ll both be outta here-”

“I hear you, but that isn’t up to me. It’s up to the Governor – and besides, there’s nothing to bring to him anyway. Your brother up and left days ago.”

“What..? How many days ago?”

“I don’t know exactly. Best guess…three, maybe four days now. Said he was lookin’ for you.”

Cursing to himself, Connor rubbed a hand through his hair as his newest set of options were presented. Murphy had left. Of course he had - but the question now was, where was he? The prison wasn’t even a day’s walk from Woodbury, unless his sense of direction truly was that terrible.

“Alright, ah…did he say where he was headed? Anywhere specific?”

“Can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Look, can I see the Governor at least? He might know-”

“He’s pretty busy at the moment. We all are.”

“I understand that-”

“Listen, man – I’ve already been pretty nice, letting you stand there and make demands. But I strongly suggest you get back in your car and turn around, go back to your friends at the prison.”

“I’m literally askin’ for-”

“Your brother ain’t here, man. Deal with it, and leave. Or don’t, and we shoot you.”

Eventually, Connor did leave – begrudgingly, and not without a curse spun the wall’s way. But as soon as the engine started and he turned and drove off, weapons were lowered as Karen spoke.

“Why do you think he wanted us to lie..?”

Martinez just shrugged.

“I don’t know. But the man’s got his reasons.”  


X

 

As time passed, while his bruises and ribs healed completely, the cavern-like emptiness that kept him awake at night and kept him exhausted during the day refused to give him any kind of reprieve. He avoided looking at his reflection as much as he could, but, when he did catch the occasional, accidental glimpse of himself in a window or a mirror, he just curled a lip and turned away. The events of recent times meant he’d lost weight – not much, but enough that when combined with the fatigue and grief, it made him actually start to look his age.

Once he was able to contribute properly, the Governor had him stationed on the wall. The conversation was inane at best, and he didn’t offer much towards it. When he was asked questions, he either dodged them or gave brief answers. Had it not been for his accuracy and competency with a weapon, he quickly would have alienated himself from the other guards. His mind was foggy and distracted and his heart heavy; making friends wasn’t too high on his priority list. In his head, Connor would whack him on the arm and call him a moody bastard, and for a split second, he’d almost smile. He’d hear it in his voice so clearly, like he was right next to him – only, when he turned his head, he’d just see Karen, or one of the others.

One particular day when someone came to replace him, he’d only been back on the ground a few minutes when he heard someone back at the wall call for the others to look lively. Although it was likely just a walker or a small herd, Murphy still hung back briefly while he worked out what was on the other side that had the others stood up and had their guns raised.

Before he could get a definitive answer, however, he heard his name called. Hesitantly looking away from the wall, he instead gave the Governor his attention. He’d gotten an eye patch now from somewhere, or he’d gotten someone to make one for him. Either way, it seemed to suit him, if the loss of an eye can suit anyone.

“You just finishing?”

“Yeah...you need me for somethin’?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Clapping a hand onto his shoulder, he began to lead Murphy towards his office, only broaching the topic at hand once the doors were closed. Circling round his desk, the Governor took this time to really take in how quickly the other man seemed to have changed. He’d been serious before, a troublemaker. But now he just stood, waiting for orders like an unwilling soldier with no other choice but to fight.

“I didn’t tell you a lot about what happened at the prison, did I?”

Murphy just shook his head, tired, red rimmed eyes anchored down by heavy, dark circles.

“We went there with peaceful negotiation in mind; that was the original plan. Unfortunately, things didn’t go the way we wanted them to.”

“What do you mean?”

“They weren’t interested; in negotiating, apologizing, nothing. And when we tried again, they open fired.”

Now that grabbed Murphy’s attention. And to the Governor’s credit, he remained completely poker faced as Murphy slowly approached the desk, inspecting his expression for fault lines or signs of a lie. And as always, he found none.

“Who was it?” He asked at last, keeping his eyes trained on the Governor. “Who was it that shot first?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to know.”

With a pause and a small smirk, the Governor gave a nod. “Fair enough…Rick, I believe his name is. He shot at me, and then it all kicked off from there.”

While he had no real reason to not believe his claims, there was a small voice, buried deep in the back of his mind telling him to tread carefully, though it was soon pushed aside with a shrug.

“Why’re you telling me this now? This was a few weeks back, they haven’t retaliated any further.”

“Which is why we need to take this chance to act again. This time, we’ll have more men, more weapons-”

“What do you want me to do.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. Murphy didn’t want to hear about the prison or the people who’d killed his twin. He wanted to seek his own brand of revenge and then move on, away from Woodbury and away from this Godforsaken state.

“We’re planning another hit on the prison, and we’ll need your knowledge of the layout to help get us in quickly quietly. Get them when they’re least expecting it, take ‘em by surprise.”

He didn’t get a response for a good few minutes, and when he did, it was nothing more than a quick nod and a resigned ‘okay’.

“Good. I’m glad you’re still on board.”

“When’re you leavin’?”

“It won’t be for a few days, at least; I need to rally the men, get the weapons together, and work out any glitches. You’ll be told when and where you need to be-”

Their meeting was soon interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, and a blonde woman entering the room a second later without invitation.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“It’s fine.” Murphy cut in, bringing both sets of eyes back to him. “I’ve said I’ll do it. Unless you wanted to talk about anythin’ else, we’re done here.”

While that wasn’t the answer the Governor wanted, the women took the cue, and approached the desk, looking to the one-eyed man to let her say her piece. Finally he gave the nod for Murphy to leave, which he did without a second thought.

It was a long, agonisingly boring day after that. And boredom did nothing to improve Murphy’s mood. He felt like he was only just keeping a lid on whatever was boiling beneath the surface, whether it was tides of raw sorrow or unadulterated rage, and being cooped up in this town, in this room…he could feel it driving him mad. No, it wasn’t until much later that afternoon when the Governor came to find him once again, and offered him an unusual favour.

There was another fight planned for that evening in the arena, and he wanted to know if Murphy was interested in taking part. He’d be fighting one of the other men, with walkers chained around the outskirts – obviously, there was risk involved. It’d be bare knuckle and bloody, good old American entertainment, though he didn’t need to say much for Murphy to accept the offer. It’d be something to do, and maybe it’d help him relieve some of this terrible hate eating him from the inside. Hanging back in the doorway, the Governor paused briefly before adding something else; that he planned to meet with Rick once more on neutral ground before their next attack occurred – not something that Murphy understood or supported. He just wanted to get it done and over with. All this meeting and negotiating was wasting time he didn’t see that they had to spare.

The vagueness of all the details of the night Connor was killed nagged at him and refused to let him be. And while he didn’t see what else could have happened, since he knew Connor would never leave him behind, the fact the Govern couldn’t tell him what his brother’s shooter looked like, despite him saying he’d been there…It didn’t feel right. But then again, nothing had felt right since he’d been told. And he knew that his willingness to not believe what he’d been told was just that large part of him that didn’t want to face the reality that he was now alone in the world. He just wanted to indulge the need for blood that had been growing and growing, humour the want for revenge, before he finally broke away from this place and made his own way.

 

X

 

As he’d promised himself, that night was certainly one he was pleased he’d agreed to participate in. While the walkers still had him on guard, it wasn’t long before punches were being thrown and blood was spattering across the sand to the sounds of cheers and support.

Violence can very quickly become like a drug; addictive, with one hit never quite being like the last. And as he pinned his opponent down and continued to beat him senseless, Murphy could feel himself unwinding little by little. The fight was brought to a close and he was led to the opposite end of the arena as the bleeding man he’d been pit against, and although his lip was bleeding profusely and his hands were shaking with adrenaline, some of the tension that’d been sat on his shoulders had dissipated. And when the next match began, as shirts were pulled off and a fresh face was beaten black and blue, Murphy found himself enjoying the act. Enjoying punching the crap out of someone, enjoying dodging blows and earning himself new bruises and marks.

On the side-lines, the Governor inclined his head as Martinez told him something in a low voice, and with a nod and a word of thanks, he continued to watch the match as if nothing had been said, the younger man slowing his step to watch for a moment as well.

 


	35. A prayer for me in silence

Long after he’d returned from the prison, Connor stayed in a near constant state of distraction and worry. He knew he should have been out looking for his brother, but something didn’t feel right. Murphy wasn’t stupid – he wouldn’t have left Woodbury unarmed, and he wouldn’t have left at night. He was a good shot, and was careful. It wouldn’t have taken him long to reach the prison, which meant he’d either been caught out and was hiding somewhere, that he’d been bitten and had since turned, which wasn’t something Connor wanted to believe had happened.

Or he was still in Woodbury.

Whether Martinez had been lying to him or if he’d been told Murphy had gone, Connor didn’t know. But the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that something was wrong. It didn’t add up. And having Merle around again didn’t help him keep his head clear. After the truck of walkers had emptied out into the yard, they’d been dealt with them one by one, and with fantastic timing, Daryl and his brother had come back and helped get rid of the rest. Only, it appeared that both intended to stay, much to Rick’s chagrin.

Hershel had been the second to approach Connor after he’d come back inexplicably, taking a seat next to him with an audible exhale of relief. The redness of his hands showed that using his crutches was starting to take its inevitable toll on him, and the stress of not knowing where his family was, in turn, was taking a strain on the ex-convict.

“What’ll you do now?” he asked, the question taking Connor a little by surprise, who rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips as he shrugged.

“Honestly? I don’t know…I don’t know what to do.”

“Will you try to find him? That’s still an option for you.”

“I want to. And I know I should – I should be out there right now, lookin’…but then, if he comes here and finds me gone? He’ll leave to try and find me, and we’re both in shit.”

As his head met his hands, his fingers rubbing at his eyes in a vain attempt to rid himself of the heaviness sleeplessness brought, Connor eventually opened his palms out to either side in a hopeless gesture, though his head remained hung low. Even when he spoke, he didn’t lift his face.

“…If it’s been days. If it’s really been days since he left Woodbury, _if_ he left…he knows the route back here. I know he’s hot headed, I know that – but he’s not reckless, not when it comes to those things. But even when you’re careful, every second you’re up and walkin’, it’s a risk.”

“You think something might have happened?”

Connor’s answer didn’t come for some time after that.

“I don’t want to have to think that, but…yeah. I do. And if that’s true, an’ I’m just sat here wallowin’ in self-pity while he’s bleedin’ out someplace, or if he’s dead or already turned-”

“You don’t know any of that’s true.”

“I haven’t seen any proof that says otherwise.” Connor replied quietly, hands coming together as an elbow rested on each knee, nervously clutched to his lips as his eyes looked at nothing in particular. Leaning forward towards him a little, Hershel spoke clearly, reassuringly, as he always did – as a father can only do.

“Murphy? Your brother? He’s strong. It’s likely he left when they said, and ran into some walkers, took shelter somewhere on the way here. I’m not going to sit here and tell you any second now he’ll show up completely unscathed, because I don’t know that. But I’ve seen you both together, seen how he looks to you. If it means being reunited with you, I’d be willing to bet he’s chosen to lay low until he can get here in one piece. It’s like you said, he’s not stupid, reckless…just give it time, be patient. You’ll see him again.”

Finally lifting his head, Connor gave the old man an uncertain look of worry, flicking his eyes away when he opened his mouth to speak.

“We were always together, you know, always. When we were kids, teenagers…inseparable. And I can’t help thinkin’…what if, the one time we weren’t, the one time he needed me most, I wasn’t there? I was just here, laying about, wonderin’ when he was going to show up when I should have been out there, lookin’ for him. What if he’s been bitten, and if I’d left a day earlier, I could’ve stopped it?”

“You’re blaming yourself for something that might not have happened”

“I’m blamin’ myself for not bein’ a better brother to him-”

“From what I’ve seen, he couldn’t ask for a better brother, nor would he want to.”

“I should have done thing’s different, back in Woodbury. When I woke up here…I should’ve left right off the bat, I should be out there now-”

“Then why aren’t you?”

Although the question itself wasn’t intended as an accusation, nor did it come across as such, his answer was still written all over his face; ‘because, deep down, I know Murphy’s probably dead. Because I know he would have rushed to get back here. Because he had no one to cover him. And I know that that’s on me. I know it’s my fault.’

“I’m telling you, Connor…be patient. Have faith.”

“Right now, that’s easier said than done…” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes once more.

“I believe that you’ll see your brother again. And right now, you need to as well. You and Murphy, you’re Catholic?”

“Aye.”

He let his hand rest on Connor’s shoulder briefly, giving him a small, sincere smile and nod when he finally got him to meet his eye.

“It’s okay to ask for help…so, ask.”

No further explanation was needed, and he took his leave soon after that. Waiting for the clack of his crutches to stop completely as the cell block door closed behind him, Connor exhaled a long, slow breath, his fingers entwined as he brought his forehead down to rest against the knuckles. They had reached instinctively for his rosary when they’d promptly been reminded that he no longer had it, though he didn’t remember taking it off at any point. Then again, the night of the attack on Woodbury was a blurry one, let alone any smaller details. As the breeze took on a lighter approach and the clouds tentatively gathered, Connor found that prayer came just as easily as it had before they’d been separated; he wanted to believe Murphy was alive, though his rational side told him otherwise. He wanted to pray and hope and have faith as he’d always managed to before. It was a comfort no matter the situation – or at least, it had been when their biggest concern had been who their next target was. Because with something like that, there’d always been an element of control lurking in the background. They’d always been able to choose who it was next, and how they went about it. They’d been chosen to get rid of the evil that walked the Earth, piece by piece, and they’d been chosen to do it together. Only now, there was a very different kind of threat that roamed the highways and back alleys, and regardless of your views on the walking dead, they made every living person equal in their vulnerability, and suddenly awake and alert to their own mortality.

But without that other half of him, without Murphy, for the first time in a long time, in years even, Connor was well and truly lost. When this’d all happened, when they’d first heard of the infection and how fast the world was crumbling, when they’d been locked away in their cell, they’d often delved into deep, sincere conversations. Early on, although both were sure they would survive for some time, both knew that there were no promises any more. It was all a roll of the dice, and both of them wanted the other to know what they meant to them, and how glad they were to know them, to have spent their lives at each other’s sides. Because it’s always the way – you lose the person you love the most before you can tell them how much you care for them, because you never imagine God could be cruel enough to take them away. He works in mysterious ways, but neither of them wanted to risk anything being left unsaid.

They had been so close as children, and as they’d grown up and learned all there was to know about their sibling, the bond they shared had been welded into permanence. It was difficult for them to fully explain in words, and it wasn’t something everybody understood, not that that mattered. Everyone loves their family, right? Everyone would do anything for their brother or sister if they needed it, but when has anyone really thought about what that means, ‘do anything for’?

Would you honestly take a bullet for your sibling? Go to jail in their place, take a beating for them, or sacrifice your on comfort and happiness to ensure they had it?

Because Connor would for Murphy, and Murphy would for Connor, without a second’s hesitation. So what had really kept Connor at the prison? And that was the question that troubled him, kept him awake at night. While he honestly hadn’t been fit enough to go on a search when he’d first arrived, he should have ignored it, sucked it up. There would have been plenty of time to rest and heal once he knew Murphy was in one piece and unharmed. Once he could get up in the morning and see his idiot brother passed out on the top bunk, once he had someone to converse with in Spanish, or Irish or Russian just for the fun of it, to keep the skills fresh. Someone to share inside jokes with and have as a constant. As a second half.

He hadn’t given anyone time to question him as he took the car he’d been loaned days before, driving down the road and away from the prison. He’d finished his prayers with the realization that the only way to find closure was to do the thing he’d been whining about; to go out and look for Murphy. It was hours before he finally returned, alone still, and feeling worse than he had before, if that was possible. He’d only given Rick a brief explanation as to where he’d been, while Hershel only needed a look of confirmation. And the next day, he left for the same reason, coming back hours later to find a new comer in the cell blocks; a blonde woman by the name of Andrea, and a vaguely familiar face to the Irishman. And then he found out she had come from Woodbury, come to discuss terms of a possible negotiation with the Governor.

This time, Connor hung around for the meeting, listening intently to both sides of the argument. Andrea wanted peace, with no more bloodshed. She was a rational thinker, and she made an articulate point, though if you knew the Governor at all, she unfortunately sounded idealistic and eloquent in equal measure. And unfortunately for her, most of the group who had gathered didn’t seem convinced that the Governor was interested in working with them at all. Rick had snapped at her, reminding her that they’d had control of the yard until the Governor had filled it with walkers. And in what Connor imagined was a rare moment, Merle threw in his two cents about the leader of Woodbury. It was only when the meeting had disbanded that Connor approached Andrea, catching her elbow as she went to follow after Michonne – another face Connor knew from Woodbury, although he hadn’t known her name until recently.

“D’you have a minute?”

Glancing down at the hand on her arm, she pulled it away in a slow, smooth movement and folded them across her chest loosely as she gave Connor a slightly wary look.

“…Sure.”

“You’ve come from Woodbury, you’re close with the Governor, right?”

“How’d you get that idea?”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Connor, but he ignored it as he pressed his point. Despite his completely uncertainty as to his brother’s whereabouts, this was an opportunity to know for sure if Murphy had left the town at all.

“Can I ask, is there an Irish guy wandering around there? My height, dark hair, matchin’ tattoos?”

It was only brief, and very easily missed, but for a second, something flashed across her expression. Like she was being reminded of something that she’d meant to say or do. Saving face, she just shrugged and shook her head.

“Can’t say I’ve seen him, sorry. I’m pretty sure he left a little while ago, if we’re thinking of the same person”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Probably because I don’t know every resident of Woodbury personally.”

“The Governor, he knows us both – maybe if you asked him-”

“Not to be rude, but I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. Like trying to prevent more people dying if this negotiation goes south, or doesn’t happen at all.”

“I understand that, trust me. But all I’m askin’ is that you check. His name’s Murphy, he’s my brother. I just need to know he’s alright, and I need him to know I am – if he’s in Woodbury still, and if you could give him a message if he is…I’d be very grateful to you.”

With a sigh, eventually she nodded, and held up her hands momentarily in a surrender-like gesture.

“…Alright. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re here”

“Thank you”

“And, what should I call you?”

“Connor.” Holding out his own hand with an appreciative smile, “S’a pleasure”


	36. Raid

Despite his wanting to go with them, Murphy was told to stay behind once again when the Governor left to meet with Rick. He knew his purpose was to assist once they finally attacked the prison, but even though being left out and in the dark wasn’t something he enjoyed, he knew that as soon as he was put in the same area as Rick, things would spiral very quickly. And so, he waited. The men returned soon enough, and within the next following days, weapons were being loaded into the backs of trucks, and the Governor’s group were being briefed on what would happen.

This was where Murphy was brought in; he was to give them the Prison’s weak spots, the easiest routes in and out, and the general layout of the populated cellblocks. And he did, with a deadpan expression and emotionless tone of voice, as if it wasn’t really him putting Rick and Beth and Glenn and Carl into no man’s land. As if the fact that they would more than likely lose people meant nothing to him. He could easily narrow down who it’d been that had shot Connor, though he didn’t know how many of them had been in the group that had attacked Woodbury in the first place. Part of him felt that he shouldn’t have been helping. That anything that happened to the people at the prison would now be on his hands, and for once the blood that already stained them would no longer be justified.

But Connor’s voice grew quieter and quieter by the day, and although their rosaries still swung side by side around Murphy’s neck, Murphy still felt himself doing things without thinking. Making decisions without really giving them much consideration, not because he was reckless, but because the longer he was alone, the less he felt he had to lose. Connor hadn’t only been his brother, but he’d been the one constant – his best friend, his moral compass between prayers. And once you lose that so suddenly, it changes you. Great personal loss either knocks you down and refuses to let you stand again, or it changes you. How you use that change depends on the person you are – but when it came down to it, with Murphy’s temper and his general nature, grief of this severity caused him to turn it on himself, become destructive, and look at the Governor as a catalyst for revenge, and the vehicles of weapons and fight-hungry men as opportunities to extract it.

And Murphy wasn’t the only one who was angry; he’d heard how the Governor spoke to his men, rallied them together with stories of how Rick’s people were interested in nothing but taking Woodbury down. Something had changed in him since the attack, but Murphy daren’t ask what had happened. It was none of his business, and whatever it was, he wagered that he wouldn’t want to talk about it. God only knew he didn’t want to talk about Connor.

He left his room and headed out into the street, pulling his jacket on as he made his way towards the cemetery; it still felt strange calling it that, only when he turned the corner from the arena this time, he wasn’t alone. The same mother and daughter that he’d seen before were there, though once he’d been noticed, they quickly took their leave. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who felt awkward paying his respects in the company of others. Connor’s was the only grave with no flowers or any kind of decoration; not because Murphy hadn’t been bothered, but because he was still hesitant to really call it a grave at all. Just seeing it served as a reminder, not only of what he’d lost, but of what he needed to do now. Taking a seat down on the grass a few feet away from the stone, he pushed his fingers through his hair, which had gradually been becoming long and unkempt.

“Hey, Conn’…I’m, ah…I’m sorry. I haven’t been here in a few days. To be honest, I haven’t known what to say. I’ve done fuck all lately, and whenever I’ve thought about coming here, I figured you wouldn’t wanna hear me bitch and complain. Figured you had enough of that by now…”

Even now, it still felt ridiculous, being sat out here and talking to himself – he hadn’t prayed since things had changed, not properly, or with much conviction - the conflict with his faith, and his hatred and anger meant that just the act of praying and asking for guidance alone now left him feeling more lost than ever. How could he expect to have the God he’d loved listen to him now, or mean anything he asked of him after such an injustice had been served? It was an awful thing, not only to suffer the loss of his sibling, but also of his certainty. His utter confidence in there being an omnibenevolent higher power had been thrown into the wind, and left him questioning everything he and Connor had done. It’d turned them into nothing more than serial killers, without cause and without reason.

“Listen…I’m leavin’ in a while. Going back to the prison… I know you’d say that I shouldn’t, tell me that I’m being a prick and that makin’ them suffer won’t make me feel better. But every time I think about it, every time I think about them all there, hanging around, thinkin’ they got away with it…it makes me so fuckin’ angry, Connor. I feel so angry, s’like a disease, just eatin’ at me, and I don’t know if shootin’ and killin’ anyone’s gonna make a difference…but I want them to hurt. I want them to suffer. And I know you wouldn’t want that. But this isn’t you. You’re not here. And they’re not gettin’ away with it.”

Although he felt he should stay longer, he was restless, and just wanted to leave, get it all over with. Hesitantly, he pulled out the twin rosaries and left the grave with a personal prayer in the air. Even if God didn’t deserve his loyalty anymore, Connor still did.

Making his way back into the town, he came to a stop near where the trucks were being loaded up, and where the group were either being briefed on what would happen, or were preparing guns of their own. The fact that some of them looked much younger than the rest didn’t escape Murphy’s attention – one or two only looked about fifteen. Only continuing on his way when Martinez caught his eye, it wasn’t long before he was being stopped again, this time by a woman – the same one from before, back in the Governor’s office. The blonde with the intense eyes and confident stature.

“You’re Murphy, right..?”

“Aye. Who’s askin’?”

He didn’t know what her connection was to the Governor, or why she was speaking to him now. But when she ushered him off to the side and lowered her voice, he made sure to listen.

“I was at the prison yesterday – you came from there, before Woodbury?”

“…Yeah. Why?”

Or at least, he would have listened if the Governor hadn’t cut her off right before she could get to the point. With a firm hand on Murphy’s shoulder, he seamlessly interjected into the conversation, managing to stop her from finishing her sentence as he began his own.

“Andrea - sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I have to borrow our friend here.” With a look at Murphy – the kind that leaves no room for argument – the Governor gave him a small nod.

“I need a word.”

“If we could just have a minute, I need to talk-” She replied, somewhat taken aback by his bluntness. This was shot down just as fast, however, as the Governor addressed Murphy again, despite his eye never leaving Andrea’s.   
  
“Now.”  
  
When she didn’t add anything else, eventually they went their own ways, the Governor’s hand not leaving Murphy’s shoulder until they were a good distance away. He didn’t know what she’d wanted to say, or why she’d wanted to say it to him – after all, he’d never really spoken to her before - but as the day came to a close and he was asked to go over the plan with the others one more time, her need to speak to him quickly sank to the back of his mind.

The evening before the day of reckoning, Murphy was invited to the Governor’s office – to talk, probably. To make sure he wasn’t having second thoughts. But when he was just offered a seat and a glass of whiskey was placed in front of him, he quickly came to realize that this was more social than anything else. When they’d first arrived here, the Governor’s general demeanour had had Murphy on guard, but now, all he saw was a man with the same goals as himself; defending what was his, and avenging the men he’d lost. The conversation was light at first, and one sided; the Governor caught on quickly that Murphy wasn’t one to warm to people quickly necessarily, so he was happy to carry the conversation for a while. It wasn’t until Murphy noticed the photograph on his desk that he decided to test the waters, if anything just to satisfy a curiosity.

“…That your family, there in the picture?”

The tension that ran through him was all Murphy needed as an answer, and when he next spoke, there was an element of coldness that he hadn’t picked up on before.

“…They killed her, you know. One of the people at the prison. A woman named Michonne, just…murdered my little girl, the night they attacked.”

“Jesus...”

“You’re not the only one who lost a loved one that night, and that’s why I need you. Your brother; he was a good man, and I regret is that I didn’t know him longer. He would have been a fine addition to this town, as you are. But he didn’t have your temper, and your anger? The rage you feel now? I need that – I need my people to be angry about this. About the fact that these people killed my men, some of which had families, and that they want to try again. I need people like you to fight with me. So…I need to know. Are you with me in this?”

The notion that they would kill a child made Murphy feel sick to his stomach, and although he hadn’t met Michonne before, he saw no logical reason why he’d lie about his daughter dying. And while he hadn’t disclosed the fact that he had no intention of staying in Woodbury once this was over, he figured that was a conversation for after the bloodshed was done. Leaning forward, he looked the Governor in the eye as he nodded.

“I’m in.”

X

By the time they were due to leave, he’d forgotten almost completely about what Andrea had needed to say to him. The atmosphere around the gates was anxious and animated, with guns being checked and people gathering around the trucks as the Governor approached, pulling on his coat as he began a new speech. His voice was commanding and impassioned, forcing people to pay attention as he reminded of them of why they were doing what they were doing. The fact that they’d lost lives, and how they ran the risk of losing everything they’d worked so hard to build. It didn’t take much more than that, because on his word, the gates were being opened for them, and the road soon rumbled with the weight of the convoy. With the speed they were going, the air that had once been dry and stifling now rushed past them all as they drove, forcing them all to look either at the floor or behind them to keep dust from the cars in front from getting dust in their eyes and mouths. Before long, the prison loomed ahead, and without hesitation, they ran down the fences like they were made of toothpicks. From this distance, Murphy couldn’t see anyone in the yard, though after the first wave of bullets tore through the walkers and buildings alike, there wouldn’t have been much hope of survival either way. When given the word, they jumped down out of the back of the truck, and followed it through into the main body of the prison yard as the gate was torn down.

It was quiet; far too quiet. As they moved in, the only sounds around them were those of boots scraping across the ground and the hurried, hushed breaths of some of the less experienced members of the team. They could have been hiding, of course – but Murphy knew Rick, knew his group. They would have shown themselves by now. Even once they were inside the cell blocks, there wasn’t a trace that the place had been inhabited by anyone in months. While they spread out, Murphy took the opportunity to venture up to the cell he and Connor had shared. He wasn’t expecting to find anything; it wasn’t as if he’d turn the corner and find his brother sat on the bed, waiting to greet him. It was just a cell now, and on the Governor’s word, Murphy was back down the stairs, leading the group down into the tombs with the Governor at his side.

“Where are they?” He asked, his voice low and serious. Murphy only glanced back at him as he opened one of the barred doors leading further in.

“I don’t know. Might’ve had second thoughts an’ fucked off..?”

He didn’t get a reply; instead, the Governor just pushed on ahead, leaving him to nod the others in after him.

For the most part, the corridors had been cleared of walkers. These passages were the most commonly used, and so were generally the safest. And for the first few minutes following their descent into the darkness, they were just that. Until a loud BANG caused them all to startle back, smoke rapidly filling the space as the Woodbury residents rapidly succumbed to panic. Once another smoke bomb had been let off, red light cut through the smoke as the cell block alarms began to sound, loud and clear as air raid sirens. And of course, there was little time to calm everyone down before a fresh herd of walkers came stumbling around the corner, the activity and noise attracting them like flies to rotting fruit. They were taken care of soon enough, and amongst the confusion and screams, Murphy managed to get enough people’s attention, directing them to follow him as he lead them back outside. None of them were prepared properly for this; even the men seemed rattled by it.

As it turned out, going outside had been exactly what the prison group had wanted. Because as soon as they began to run and scatter, bullets started to fly and they were forced to take cover behind whatever they could. From his hiding place, Murphy could just about see one of them up on the catwalk, clad head to toe in stolen riot gear. He couldn’t tell who it was behind the helmet, but when a second person knelt up and began to take shots, he felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, or simply stop altogether.

He rubbed his eyes hard and forced himself to take a breath before looking back, fully expecting the image of his brother to have been replaced by Glenn or Rick. But when he looked back and only saw Connor taking refuge behind a piece of sheet metal, a lot of things began to fall into place. Sitting up, Murphy aimed his gun at the catwalk and shot, catching Connor’s attention long enough for him to yell out to him, making sure it would keep his attention, make him listen;

“CONNOR – if that’s you, brother – don’t you fucking _dare_ shoot me”


	37. Reunion

When the next meeting had been called, Connor had been allowed to sit in and participate, listening carefully as Rick recounted what the Governor had told him when he’d gone to meet with him. There was no room for negotiation; the Governor wasn’t interested in bargains or deals, nor was he prepared to live side by side with the prison and the group that lived there. He wanted them all dead, and was prepared to do whatever it took to make that happen. They were going to war, and the prison would need to be fortified in any way they could manage. The catwalk had already been reinforced, but the same had to be done for the courtyard, giving it more hiding spots and places of cover. With everyone on the same page, and with the decision to fight wordlessly unanimous, the meeting came to a close.

As everyone disbanded and went their separate ways, Connor was the last to get up and leave the common area, tactfully ignoring the sound of his name as he headed outside into the late afternoon light. The Governor would be here before the week was out, that much was certain. But while that news should have given him a sense of urgency, and the need to do as much as he could to strengthen their defences and pack away as many supplies as they could spare, his mind wouldn’t rest on any other topic but Murphy.

One after the other, the days passed one another, and it became harder and harder for Connor to cope with the fact that he’d likely never see him again. His trips into the forest and out onto the roads to look for him were cut off when Rick told him they couldn’t spare the fuel any more, that he was needed around the prison more. That he’d have to either risk looking for Murphy on foot, or stay put. And while the rest of the group noticed the change in him become more and more prominent, Hershel was the only one to really see through the cracks in his demeanour. He’d watched as Connor had continued to pull his weight, but had withdrawn further and further into himself. He stopped smiling, and he’d avoid group interaction where he could, preferring his own company, or the company of God when he could find a place to sit in peace and quiet. He hadn’t found his brother, dead or alive – but in this world, that tended to only mean one thing, especially when the evidence was so stacked against Murphy. Andrea hadn’t come back with news about him – she hadn’t come back at all, in fact, and that in itself was worrying. But it’d been too long for any other option to be feasible. Both he and Connor had known that Murphy was likely dead. But it was obvious that Connor was nowhere near ready to face that brutal reality.

 The old man worried about him, and had tried to talk to him, to help coax out the hurt he was feeling. Of course, nothing he could say to him could make him feel better – only time could heal grief, in the end – but he also knew how going through mourning alone could change a person for the worse, and forever. Connor was a good man, with a good heart and a solid set of principles. Brave, loyal, skilled, honest…these things Hershel could all see in him that were all suddenly at risk of being pushed aside to make room for this new anguish; an awful turmoil that kept him from sleep at night, and kept him distracted and apathetic during the day.

He often saw him reach for his rosary, momentarily forgetting that it no longer sat in its usual place against his chest, as he often saw him instinctively turn to his left when a door behind him opened, or someone called out to him. There was that bittersweet hopefulness in his face for the tiniest second that he’d imagined everything that’d happened, that Murphy would come rambling down the stairs and clap him around the back of the head, or collapse down next to him, back into his natural place by his side. If he cried, it was never where Hershel or anyone else could see.

Taking his turn to go down to the outer fence and get rid of any walkers that had strayed onto the perimeter, at first, Connor just did his job; taking them out one by one, the blade of the knife entering each skull with practiced ease. Though gradually, with every rotting, disease ridden face that pushed against the chain links that he came across, he quickly found himself looking at each one, hoping Murphy wouldn’t show himself as the next in line. And the more this thought whirred at the forefront of his mind and the louder the moans of the dead became, soon the force he was using to put them down became more and more violent, and by the time only a few stragglers remained, he was out of breath and doing his best to calm himself down.

Why couldn’t Murphy have just stayed put?  He should have stayed in Woodbury – he would have known that Connor would have come and found him again, so why couldn’t he have just been patient for once in his damned life and waited? He was pleased to be alone now, because the sight of him slumped back against the fence was surely a pathetic one, not that he gave a shit what anyone thought anymore. The piles of dead walkers only a few feet in front of him just served as a reminder that Murphy could have easily been one of them, out there somewhere, either wandering aimlessly and killing indiscriminately, or perhaps he’d been shot already. Of course, Murphy could have chosen to take his own life if he had been bitten; it’d be a quicker route to the inevitable than bleeding out or succumbing to fever. Both of them had grown up being told that suicide was wrong. That killing yourself was, while not unforgivable, not something that could easily be forgotten in the eyes of the lord, but this wasn’t the world that they’d been raised in. And it left Connor conflicted with both the hope that Murphy wouldn’t let himself suffer, and the hope that he wouldn’t have committed such a sin, should the situation arise. Either way, it was something he should have been present for, and the knowledge that he hadn’t been eroded away at him.

Connor didn’t return to the cellblock for quite some time – so long, in fact, that Hershel was half-way down to the fences to find him by the time he was seen again, although any attempt from the older man to speak to him about Murphy was rebuffed after that; not rudely, but not in a way that left much room for persuasion either. While he wasn’t the kind to become self-destructive, Hershel could see the Connor that they’d grown to trust was gradually disappearing.

And then the day came for them to pack away the remaining supplies, sending the cars out and hiding them in the forest, with a select few members of the group staying put in the prison itself to gear up. They planned to ambush the Governor when he made his move, and although the timing had been vague, when their attention was drawn to the yard as a hail of quick-fire bullets showered the area, the sound of each shot an announcement to all who could hear it; ‘We’ve arrived. Show yourselves or show us what you’ve got’. God only knew how they’d managed to arm themselves so well, but look Connor gave Maggie helped to reassure her none the less. They had the upper hand, they knew the layout better, and they had the best spots of cover.

As planned, they all stayed low and silent as the Woodbury group made their way through, bursting through the fences and guiding their people safely inside the wall of the prison. They were well equipped and all armed to the teeth, and as each of them filed inside the cell block, Connor eventually managed a quick glance down through the sheets of scrap metal that now lined the catwalk. The Governor was recruiting young; some of the ‘soldiers’ only looked in their teens. But for the most part, it was all men Connor recognised, more or less. Strangely, that didn’t make it any harder for him to kill any of them, if he had to. He’d chosen where his loyalties now lay, and those who posed a threat would be taken down. As more and more of the Governor’s men infiltrated their space, he went over and over how many times he’d dismissed his brother’s concerns, or told him to lighten up. How quickly he’d trusted the Governor when he should have been so much more careful. Not that there was anything thinking like that would do for them now.

No, all he could do now was wait for the signal that their plan was about to be put into action – and when it finally was, it all happened quickly, and as planned. Once the intruders had begun to flee from the cellblock’s as the alarm system was tripped, the prison group had started to open fire on them. It was like shooting at fish in a barrel; utter chaos. A stray bullet had clipped the metal board closest to him, and while he normally would have ignored it and stayed low, the sound of a familiar voice, despite the shooting and the panicked screams, cut through it all like scissors through silk. It was a voice he knew all too well, but one he knew he had to be imagining, because the only other option simply wasn’t possible. The universe was rarely so kind.

But then he’d dared to move the framework away from the chain fence, just an inch or so, just enough for him to look down beneath them and try to place the voice. At first nothing was clear, and all that he could hear was Maggie yelling at him to get back and to keep shooting. But then Murphy had peered round from behind his hiding place, and Connor had yelled to get his attention once more, shouted at him to meet him back inside cell block C, not having to tell him he’d cover him on his way back inside. Grabbing his arm, Maggie gave him a confused, steady look from behind her riot helmet. But she didn’t have the chance to reprimand him for leaving, nor did he let her. He just pulled his arm away, and with that, he’d disappeared back inside the relative safety of the prison walls.

Of course, had this been any other situation, he would have been far more careful about checking for walkers or any remaining Woodbury residents, but when Murphy had skidded through the doors moments after him and they’d looked at each other across the room, caution was the last thing on either of their minds. For a minute or so, both men just stared at each other, emotion’s running high in the two of them, but neither were sure how to act on it. For Connor, there was just pure, unadulterated relief that Murphy was alive and okay. The very fact that he was stood just a few feet away completely overriding the reason why he was there at all.

But for Murphy, as the distance between them closed and he pulled Connor into the tightest hug he could manage, the raw relief and joy at finding out his brother was well and truly alive was tainted with a new kind of rage. _He’d been lied to._ The Governor had kept up this façade, continued to lie through his teeth, lie to Murphy’s _face_ that Connor was dead and gone.  He’d let him mourn, let him go through so much pain, but to what end? To make him fight for him? He didn’t know. But thoughts of Woodbury’s leader quickly slipped down his priority list as he let himself drink in the fact that Connor was here. That Connor was _okay._ That it really was his brother’s arms around him and the comfort of a familiar accent saying God only knew what into his shoulder. And it was then, when he’d eventually gone to pull away and found Connor unwilling to let go just yet, that he realized that he hadn’t been the only one who’d been under the assumption that the other was gone for good. Connor was protective and loyal, always had been – but the way his fingers were gripping Murphy’s shirt and the way he kept apologising over and over, how his voice kept cracking as he did his best to keep tears back – this wasn’t a side of him Murphy could remember seeing, not that he was doing much better. It was taking a lot to keep himself composed, not that that really meant anything anymore. While neither of them made a habit out of crying at every opportunity given to them, Murphy could honestly say he’d never felt so happy and so relieved in his life. He couldn’t easily put into words how thankful he truly was.

The continued gunfire on the other side of the doors was all but lost on the two of them as they eventually released each other, smiles breaking out on both faces – wide and unashamed – as hands were rubbed across eyes and guns held at sides. Both of them had had so much they’d wanted to say before, but now that they were faced with the ever-rare second chance, neither could fathom anything they wanted to break the ice with now. Only when he’d managed a few deep breaths did Murphy finally go to speak, though the beginning of his sentence was crushed behind the door as it was slammed open, Rick coming through into the cell block, followed closely by Carol and several of the others. The sight of Connor wasn’t a cause for concern, but the realization that he wasn’t alone soon had guns up once more, though the twins were just as fast on the draw. Immediately, Murphy was guided behind Connor as they both backed up, Rick looking at Connor with an expression worth a hundred words. Each question was a demand, a spat-out statement, and every answer may as well have been in another language for all the good it did.

“Why is he here.”

“Rick, put it down and we can talk-”

“He was with _them –_ why is he here.”

In a surprising turn of events, Murphy stayed completely quiet, keeping his gun up and his mouth shut as Connor slowly held up his hands in surrender.

“I was just about to find that out.”

“Rick – we have bigger things to worry about.” This time, Connor’s salvation came from Glenn, who was quick to remind their leader that the Governor was still on the road, and therefore still vulnerable. With another look shot over Connor’s shoulder, Rick finally gave it up for the time being, instead giving out their next plan; they would follow after the Woodbury group and take them down, continue the fight on the road if necessary. Only when everyone was agreed and a new focus point did Rick turn back to Connor, hissing out his words as he glanced at Murphy, who met his glare with a look of guarded uncertainty.

“Make sure you get answers.”

“I will.”

 


	38. Count your blessings

Only when they were alone again did the brothers get the chance to really speak properly, though even then it followed minutes of quiet between them. Eventually prompted anew by Murphy carefully pulling Connor’s rosary over his head and returning it to its rightful owner, at first, Connor only looked down at it in his hand with a mixture of confusion, and relief that it’d been found. Frowning at his brother’s expression, Murphy nodded at him.

“What’s up..?”

“Where’d you get this?”

“The Governor – he gave it to me.” Pausing a moment, Murphy glanced down at his own hands. “He gave it to me right before telling me you’d been killed.”

“He told you that..?”

Murphy just nodded, meeting his brother’s eye again as the realization crept through him. Replacing the beaded cross around his neck, he dropped in inside his shirt with a sigh – a heavy, regretful sound.

“What happened, Connor? The night Woodbury was attacked?”

“To tell you the truth…I don’t really remember much of anythin’ – I went back for you, found Rick an’ Daryl on the way…somethin’ hit me, right here. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up here.”

With a tap to where his head injury was practically healed, Connor waited for Murphy to digest this new information before he took his turn to ask a question.

“…Why were you with them? With the Governor, all his lot? Did he threaten you, somethin’ like that?”

“I agreed to help him.” Murphy replied quietly, only able to look at his sibling properly when he was prompted to with a stern request for clarification. Across the way, Connor was searching his brother’s face for some kind of hint that he didn’t mean what he’d just said.

“What are you talkin’ about..? You knew what he was comin’ here to do, why would you-”

“He told me it was one of Rick’s group who killed you. I wanted-”

“What? You wanted what, revenge? I suppose he didn’t tell you who exactly it was? Murph’, you were ready to _kill_ -”

“Yeah – yeah, I was. I wanted the person who I thought had shot you to die. And don’t you dare stand there and judge me for that. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

Rubbing a hand across his face, Connor looked up as Murphy got up from his seat and walked the length of the room, only coming back to round on him with his answer when he’d said his piece.

“I’m not judgin’ you, Murphy – I just want to know what the fuck was going through your head that made the thought of killin’ these people a reasonable option.”

“You wanna know? _Fine._ I thought you were dead, Connor. You hadn’t come to find me, you weren’t anywhere in Woodbury, he had your rosary. I thought I was never gonna see you again, and I wanted to make it right, whatever that meant.”

“That should never mean killing innocent people!”

Murphy’s anger was bested only by his realization that Connor was right, but his finger came up all the same, pointing accusingly at Connor as he delivered his reply.

“I didn’t know they were innocent, not anymore. You don’t know what it was like, no fuckin’ idea. I blamed myself for you dyin’, I had to grieve for you – do you know what that was like to go through, alone? Do you know what it was like knowin’ I’d let you down so badly? And all this fuckin’ time, you were tucked up here, all safe and sound – why didn’t you come back for me? Why wouldn’t you come back to Woodbury to get me, to let me know you were alright?”

Murphy was all but shouting now, but the answer he got quickly redirected his ferocity as Connor got to his feet, laying out the truth as he knew it with equal intensity.

“Of course I went back for you! And you know what they told me? That you’d gone. That you’d left to try and find me. I figured you’d come back here, and when you didn’t show up? After days of goin’ out there and searchin’, and waitin’ and prayin’ and still not seeing you? How the fuck do you think that felt?”

Both men took a moment to breathe, to cool off a little before Connor finally finished his tirade, this time in a calmer, more earnest tone of voice, Murphy following suit soon after.

“…I should’ve insisted, made ‘em let me back into Woodbury. But at the time…I don’t know. I didn’t see why they’d lie. I’m sorry, Murph’. Lookin’ back I should’ve done more-”

“There wasn’t anythin’ else you could’ve done…I don’t get it, though. Why would they lie? It’s not like either of us were anythin’ to them.”

“They were keepin’ Glenn and Maggie hostage. They knew the prison existed…I guess they wanted someone on their side to fight for ‘em, someone who knew the layout.”

This was obviously new information to Murphy, judging by how quickly his expression softened.

“…But why tell me you were dead..?”

“Because the Governor could see it was both of us or nothin’. Without one of us in the picture, the other wouldn’t have anythin’ to lose. S’that simple, the way I see it.”

“Aye, well…he wasn’t wrong.”

Going back to Connor’s side, Murphy took a seat and mirrored his brother’s body language – as, per usual, unintentionally – with his arms resting on his knees and his torso hunched forward in a slouch. He didn’t say anything else for some time, but this time, for once he wasn’t interrupted as he chose his words with care, though they came to him easily all the same.

“…I’m really glad you’re here, Conn’. When I thought you were dead, I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t ready for it, I didn’t know how to think straight…an’ I’m sorry, for earlier, for shoutin’. I should just be happy you’re okay. That I got you back, after everythin’ that went down…”

Connor just listened, watching as Murphy scratched at the skin around his thumb, not so much in nervousness now but in the absence of having anything else to do with his hands.

“I know. To be honest with you, I wasn’t much better, me’self. I missed you too, you little bastard. More than you know.”

 

 

Pushing an arm loosely around his shoulders, Connor pulled his brother into a side hug, squeezing his shoulder and, for the first time in weeks, the two of them shared a small smile.

“Come on, let’s not keep talkin’ about it, a’right? The real question now is what the fuck we’re gonna do next”

“How d’you mean? About Rick and that lot?”

“Yeah. We can talk him round, see if we both can’t come back an’ stay here, or we can get back to the crash site, see if the car’s still there. Carry on with the first plan. S’up to you.”

Looking from his brother to his hands again, Murphy thought for a minute. Going back to the car, if it was even still there, which there was a good chance it was, was an option…but it’d be risky getting back there, if he could even remember how far away they’d pulled up. Staying at the prison meant all the things it had before; shelter, food, and a bed to sleep in. Rick would need convincing, and that was never a guarantee…but if it went well, Murphy had no real reason to say ‘no’. Ideally, he’d like to go back out onto the road and continue with their plan, but not right now. Not immediately. He’d only just gotten Connor back, and he wasn’t willing to risk putting that in jeopardy any time soon.

“…We should stay. Only temporarily if they don’t want us here, but if the Governor gets away, I reckon they’ll need all the help they can get takin’ him out. And if not, then…we can go back on the road, back to the plan.”

“Alright then.”

“You think he’ll like it? Rick, I mean”

“The idea of you stayin’? Not at first. Let me talk to him – see if I can’t work some magic.” Connor said with a shrug as he brought his arm back around. Honestly, he couldn’t see the conversation going well, but there was no way he wasn’t going to try. Evidently, Murphy had warmed to the idea of sharing the prison, though he couldn’t say how long that attitude would last.

The remainder of the day was spent outside with those who hadn’t gone with Rick to chase down the Governor, keeping watch and trying to fix the fences as best they could. Murphy was treated with an expected level of wariness and suspicion, but this time round he forced himself to ignore it, instead working closely with Connor on whatever task they’d set themselves, catching up on lost time and silently revelling in having the other around again. And when Murphy had revealed the packet of cigarettes he’d had stashed in his pocket from Woodbury, the mood between them lifted even higher. It’d been so long since Connor had had a smoke, and when Murphy had lit it for him and he’d dragged in that first lung full of familiarity, the rush and relief was beyond satisfying. There were only a few left in the pack, so he knew they’d been sharing, and even then they’d be few and far between, but it was certainly better than nothing.

It’d just been passed to Murphy to finish up when the sound of the gates being opened brought their attention away from their conversation. Making their way to the yard, the sight of Rick’s car was one thing, while the bus following close behind was another altogether. Sharing a look, the brothers approached the vehicles as people began to climb out of the bus, and Rick shut the door of his car behind him. Carl was the first to talk to him, but the sight of Murphy clipped his answer short – evidently, the small factor of the second MacManus brother had slipped his mind for a while. Speaking briefly to Daryl and gesturing from the bus to the cell blocks, eventually he made his way towards the brothers, nodding for Connor to follow him. A pat on the chest as he followed the sheriff told Murphy to stay put, not that he needed telling – though he still watched them both go as the last of the cigarette was smoked and crushed under foot. He had no doubt Connor would do his best to make sure they could stay, and if not, at least they’d get another chance of braving the road. Ever since he’d realized he was alive, Murphy had promised to make a conscious effort to be better – to not complain as much as he had before, to not be such a pain in the arse. Of course he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t break this promise, but there was so much he regretted doing and saying to Connor before they’d been separated, this time he’d be damned if he let history repeat itself.

By the time Rick and Connor reappeared, the horde of newcomers were already settling in their cells. Murphy had returned to his own, concerned that someone might unknowingly take it as their own. It was slightly petty, given that all of the cells were identical and there was nothing in particular that separated this one from the others, but he still wanted to keep it as theirs. When Connor eventually tracked him down, Murphy sat up instantly, looking for any indication of the answer he was about to receive. Connor only took a step or two inside the cell, his eyes downcast, and for a good few seconds, Murphy had resigned himself to their Plan B.

“When does he want us out?”

“…Tonight. He wants us gone as soon as possible.”

“Fucks sake…alright, well…I’m good to go whenever you- what?”

As he’d stood up, Murphy hadn’t noticed right away the smile that was crawling across his brother’s face.

“The fuck’re you smirkin’ at?”

“You’re really tryin’ to be a little angel this time round, aren’t’cha?”

“Fuckin’ blow me. Look, we need some supplies before we can go anywhere-”

“Murph’, Murph’ – relax. I’m kidding.”

“What?”

“I’m just fuckin’ with you. I talked him round – you’re on probation, but you’re all good.”

Once he’d made sure Connor was being serious, Murphy gave him a punch to the shoulder as he let himself relax again, taking the return hit in good favour as they both made themselves at home on their respective bunks once more. Tugging his rosary out from under his shirt, Murphy teased the beads between his fingertips, not knowing that Connor was practically doing the same thing above him, feeling the familiar bumps beneath his shirt and against his chest. For a while, the sound of the prison’s inhabitants was the only thing to fill the air; the sound of parents reassuring children, and of friends finding each other again. It soon became obvious to both of them that they were all from Woodbury, but why Rick had brought them here, neither of them knew.

“Hey…what’d you say to make him say yes?”

“Nothin’ much…just that you’d be on laundry duty for the next thirty years.”

“You’re so fuckin’ funny.”

“Eh, I try.”

“Seriously – how’d you swing it?”

“I told him that if he trusted me, he’d have to trust you too. Both or nothin’, that sort of shit. Told him what a good boy you are, how much you love doin’ laundry and helpin’ out around the house, all that good, honest crap.”

Kicking the mattress with a roll of the eyes, Murphy smiled to himself all the same.

“I suppose you’ll be wantin’ a ‘thank you’?”

“Nah – save that for Rick. He’s the one you’ve gotta impress now. Best pray extra hard that he’s in a better mood tomorrow.”


	39. If I ever leave this world alive

The days following the Governor’s attack were spent repairing and clearing up. Upon inspection, the fences hadn’t been quite a badly damaged as they’d first thought, and didn’t take long to fix up properly. They’d need reinforcing sooner rather than later, but for the time being, they’d do their job. There was still a lot to do around the yard and the cell blocks – one of the watch towers had been all but destroyed, and the corpses of all the walkers taken down in the fire fight had to be moved and burned. As the pile was set alight and the flames quickly took hold, Murphy pulled off the gloves he’d been loaned and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, giving the other three men who’d been helping him a nod of thanks as they went their own ways. That was it for the bodies, more or less, and although there hadn’t been that many, hauling them onto the pile was easier said than done. A thick plume of smoke curled up from the bonfire, and the more Murphy stared into the centre of it, the more vivid his memory of that night became; when he’d gone to the Governor’s office looking for answers and he’d been handed Connor’s rosary instead, told that his brother was ‘probably being burned’ along with the rest of the dead. Even when he looked back on it, the Governor had done a good job of convincing him; Murphy hadn’t trusted him at all, and even he had believed him. Perhaps it had been naïve of him, or perhaps nowadays, if you don’t hear from a loved one, death is the automatic go-to conclusion.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of crutches – an all too recognisable noise now. Turning his head as Hershel joined his side, Murphy had to admit he felt almost awkward being alone with any of the prison group now. He hadn’t done a lot to win their favour before, and being seen working for the Governor hadn’t won him any points – it was his brother who had become the favourite, the one who enjoyed talking to everyone and developing friendships. As it stood, Murphy still wasn’t sure how he felt about the people here, but one thing he knew for sure, this place was better than Woodbury by miles.

“You got all this done already?” Hershel asked, nodding to the fire. Murphy glanced the same way and then back to him, clearing his throat lightly before answering. He’d said he’d make more of an effort. So, he would.

“Aye, well…it wasn’t just me. Some of the other’s helped. Had to get it done, out of the way.”

“I agree. I’ve noticed, you’ve been a lot more willing to help since you’ve been back. Not to say you didn’t before.”

“S’fine…You wouldn’t’ve been wrong.”

They both smiled, a little more easily this time.

“So…did you need somethin’?”

“No. Just saw you standing out here alone, thought I’d come on out, see if you had a minute to talk.”

“About what..?” Murphy asked, frowning a little. He’d only been back two days, and as far as he knew he hadn’t screwed up. Shaking his head in reassurance, Hershel looked around, before spotting one of the benches and motioning for them both to take a seat. He settled down with an exhale of relief, Murphy sinking down and perching on the edge furthest from the old man.

“I’d like to know…what’s your opinion on staying here? On sharing the prison?”

The indifferent shrug was the first response, but it was followed up by a blunt, but honest answer.

“Me an’ Connor, we were here first. And I don’t like how you lot decided to just make us leave, for somethin’ we didn’t do, somethin’ you couldn’t prove. But, I don’t know. He’s hell-bent on makin’ it work, with all of us gettin’ along.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“Yeah, I want that. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier. But it goes two ways. I make an effort to be civil, Rick and the others, they’ve gotta show me the same respect, else this ain’t gonna work out.”

His argument was reasonable enough, Hershel thought – and for the moment, his only reply was an affable nod.

“That’s fair…I think you’ll do just fine, if you continue to work as hard as you have over these two days.”

“Here’s hopin’…”

“…He worried about you, you know. While you were gone.”

For the first time since they’d sat down, Murphy looked from the bonfire to his older companion, who didn’t need prompting to elaborate his point.

“The whole time, when he wasn’t out there looking for you, he was back here. Praying for you, watching the road…he’s a good man, your brother. You’re lucky to have him.”

“No need to tell me that…I grew up with him.”

“We talked quite a bit when he brought back here. And you know what he told me, when he got back from Woodbury, when he’d been told that you’d left?”

“I can probably guess.”

“He told me he thought he should have been a better brother to you. That if you were out there, dying or dead, that it was his fault for not leaving to look for you sooner.”

Although his tone wasn’t at all accusing or scolding, Murphy still felt himself bristle at the words, though it wasn’t clear whether it was because he disliked what he was being told, or something else entirely. Turning his head back towards Hershel, he all but snapped his reply, stormy eyes flaring with challenge.

“Why’re you tellin’ me, exactly? What do you want me to do about it now? I’m here now, that’s what Connor wants - that’s what matters.”

“I’m telling you, so you might look at the chance you’ve been given more objectively. You’re both happy to be back together, I see that, we all do. But now you run the risk of taking that for granted-”

“You think that’s how I see him?”

“No.”

“Really? Because that’s what it fuckin’ sounds like.”

“Now that you’re together again, you’ll go back to thinking ‘it won’t happen to us’. That nothing bad will happen now. We’ve all thought it, and at one time or another, we’ve all lost someone. All I’m saying is that you need to look at how fortunate you both are, and to let him know that you’re grateful he’s still here – because I’m telling you now, he was a mess, and he blamed himself for letting you down. And I told him that you couldn’t ask for a better brother. You need to tell him how thankful you are, before something else happens, God forbid.”

By this point, Murphy had gotten to his feet and had stepped away from the bench. This hadn’t been what he was expecting at all, and although everything Hershel was saying was true, the fact that he could read them – read him – so well unnerved him slightly. He felt as though he was a child being lectured by his father, or at least, this was how he imagined his father would have put him in his place.

“Connor knows all that, he knows I’m happy he’s here-”

“Does he?”

“Look...I get what you’re sayin’. I hear you. I’ll let him know, a’right? When I next see him.”

The internal sigh of relief he felt when Hershel brought his sermon to an end was immeasurable, in that moment anyway. He obviously meant well – after all, he and Connor got on well enough. He was just looking out for him, or at least, as far as Murphy could tell. Getting up from the bench, Hershel closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Murphy’s shoulder briefly.

“You’re a decent man. And he’s lucky to have you as his family.”

Murphy just gave him a grateful, yet slightly awkward nod as he made his way gradually back towards the cell blocks, leaving the Irishman alone once more. That was certainly something of an unexpected encounter, but he had to admit, it stayed with him, as did one of Connor’s apparent comments; ‘he wished he’d been a better brother to you’. He was torn between thinking that Connor was a sentimental idiot for saying something so cliché, but the more the words wormed their way into his brain and settled there, the more Hershel’s talk made sense. He’d do anything for Connor. But he’d always assumed that was common knowledge between them – and if that was really how Connor felt, what did that say about how he acted towards him?

Kicking some wood back onto the fire, Murphy finally turned and headed back toward the cell block. It wasn’t until later that they were reunited again, both weary from the manual work outside, but both in amicable enough moods that they could enjoy each other’s company, and later still, enjoy the company of the rest of the group. Cell blocks D, E and A had been thoroughly cleared to make room for their new residents, and evidently, some habits from Woodbury had been brought back with them.

During the evenings, it became more common for everyone to gather together while they ate. Everyone got on well enough, and as the days went by, very slowly but surely, Murphy began to earn his stripes back. Rick still treated him with an air of disdain, but where the others were concerned, he wasn’t as terrible as they’d first thought. Connor had explained the situation to Carol and to Hershel, who had then told the others, and eventually, Murphy was accepted just as his brother had been. And when the Governor made no appearance well after a fortnight had passed, the general atmosphere of the prison relaxed into a routine, and learned to breathe a little easier.

One evening, they’d opted to sit outside with some of the other inhabitants, staying close enough to be sociable, but also with enough distance so that they could talk together. Sometimes they’d choose a different language to converse in if there were kids nearby – the looks of curiosity they got for it were priceless – but for the most part, when speaking privately, they chose Irish. While a few of the residents spoke Spanish, and maybe some others spoke other languages, Irish was the only one they were both confident they were unique in knowing, and it meant there was still something that set them apart from the rest. It was a taste of home, which, even on the best of days, was something of a comfort for the two of them.

Taking his seat on the ground next to his brother, Connor nudged him as he handed him some water, though the distracted look on his face was quickly noted. Swallowing back a mouthful of is drink, he rested his head back against the wall, watching the people around them as he spoke.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Glancing to the side, he raised his brows at the oblivious look Murphy gave him in return. “You look like you’re worried about somethin’ – anythin’ wrong?”

With a shake of the head and a half-hearted smirk, Murphy turned his attention to the cup of water in his hands.

“Nah, I’m good…just spacin’ out.”

“Alright.”

And that was that. Or at least, it could have been, if Murphy had wanted it. But while he appreciated Connor not pushing the subject for once, only a few minutes passed before he brought it up again.

“Have you ever not believed in God..? I mean, not just questioned it, but really thought that He didn’t exist, even if only for a while..?”

He’d known something was on his mind, but Connor had quite been expecting that. Thinking over his answer, he finally gave a light shrug.

“I guess…I’ve thought about it. When we were teenagers and all that. But no, I don’t think I ever didn’t believe. Pretty sure Ma would’ve hit the roof if she’d known.”

Obviously, the playful tone to his answer hadn’t been what Murphy had wanted to hear. So, he tried again, lowering his voice just a little as he switched out of English.

“Why do you ask?”

It took a moment or two for Murphy to actually answer him, but eventually he did, continuing to face forward as he explained himself.

“When I thought you…when I thought you were gone, after I found out…I didn’t pray. I mean, when I was at your grave, I did. I prayed for you, but it didn’t feel like it usually does. I meant it for your sake, but other than that, I didn’t. I tried to, once or twice – but it felt wrong. I didn’t see why I should anymore when you’d been taken away. And I sure as hell didn’t see how any God could expect me to after what they’d done.”

As he talked, his tone weighted with guilt, Connor listened intently with a strange sort of culpability of his own. He hadn’t put up any kind of memorial for Murphy, though granted, he’d had no proof he wasn’t still alive. Hearing that he’d had a grave, though…that affected him more than he thought it would. It made the image of his twin grieving for him, and doing so completely alone that much more real, and that much more heart breaking.

“Murph’, listen – I don’t think you’ve got anythin’ to worry about. In our situation, with the two of us? I don’t think God will hold your bein’ angry against you. You had every right to be.”

“This wasn’t just me ‘bein’ angry’. This was me seriously wondering exactly what we’d been spendin’ all this time doin’, what we’d been brought up to believe, whether or not it was true – whether or not it was worth my time anymore…”

“I hear you…but, honestly…I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure hundreds of other people have been thinkin’ the same thing, you know? About the world, about how somethin’ like this virus or whatever it is could happen. How God could do that to his own creation, all that shit.”

“Did you question anythin’, when I wasn’t here?”

“…No. Not really. If anythin’, I went the other way. I prayed a lot. I prayed fuckin’ hard.” Nudging Murphy with his elbow, Connor finally coaxed a smile out of his brother. “And hey! Look what it got me! My _baby brother,_ back in one piece”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, there’s no way I’m the fuckin’ youngest – just fuckin’ drop it, will you?” Murphy replied, shoving Connor over as he sniggered at the age old taunt. In a strange way though, it helped – Connor had prayed, and they’d been reunited. Intentional or not, it gave him a small amount of comfort to hold onto.

That night, as they lay in their respective bunks, Murphy waited for Connor to fall asleep before he pulled out his rosary, and silently began to pray. It was apologetic and awkward at first, but by the time he’d finished, he drifted off quickly, and slept throughout the night with a badly-missed sense of contentment.


	40. He who rides the white horse

The longer they went without hearing from the Governor, the faster he fell to the back of everyone’s minds. Through asking the right people, the boys had found out what had made Rick bring the remaining residents of Woodbury back with him, learned of the massacre they’d found at the side of the road when they’d gone to chase him down. The hand that silently went to Murphy’s shoulder told him how much more thankful its owner was that they’d spotted one another and that Murphy had stayed behind during the attack. That he could easily have earned a bullet to the head if he’d stayed with the Governor any longer. Regardless, being in a community of sorts – as this mix matched group had become – evidently was doing a lot of good. People were far more at ease here, and even when food became scarce temporarily, they made do.

The fences and gates were reinforced, and while regular checks were done in and around the cell blocks and the perimeter of the prison to seek out weak spots and rogue walkers, the only thing that remained to remind people that it was in fact a jail they were staying in were the bars at their doors. Flowers were planted here and there, as were vegetables further down the yard, across the way from the recently built animal pen, though granted it only held a few pigs and a horse. But, it was better than nothing. It was still dark and dreary for the most part, but the people breathed a little more life into the place. And the brothers both found themselves able to blend into things more easily, becoming friendly with select members of the group and joining in in more conversations and kidding around when they were tasked with different jobs.

And for a while, things felt like they were finally picking up and staying there – of course, the moment you acknowledge that, something goes wrong. But as it stood, it’d been over thirty days without an accident. A new record, Connor supposed, though when the cell block began to wake up one morning and Murphy didn’t follow suit right away, he could already feel the ticking of the time bomb starting in the back of his mind. Now, neither of them were particularly pleasant in the morning, but early starts were something you got used to nowadays. Murphy usually got on with it and sucked it up, but this morning it was like he’d taken something to help him doze off and it hadn’t quite left him yet. When he did eventually roll over and give his brother a half-hearted punch to the side in reply, Connor noticed how tired he looked, as well as how pale, and how he seemed to actively avoid the light.

“Didn’t sleep well last night..? Y’look like shit”

“Guess not. I’m fine, let me up will you?”

“Hey, don’t go snappin’ at me-.”

“Well I don’t need you fussin’, I’m not fuckin’ five. Connor, what-”

Ignoring his protests, Connor pushed the back of his hand against Murphy’s forehead, despite it being slapped away seconds later.

“Fuck off”

“Alright, alright, calm down, Princess.”

Throwing up his hands in surrender, Connor got up from the edge of Murphy’s bed, making his way out of the cell and having a stretch while the other twin pulled himself fully in consciousness. Following his brother out with a hand clamped to the back of his neck to tease out one particular sore spot.

“Seriously, Murph’ – go back to bed. If you’re comin’ down with somethin’, don’t be the dickhead who gives it to everyone else-”

“Jesus fuck, I’m fine. Christ, you’re worse than Ma.”

“Oh, trust me – this isn’t even _close_ to me naggin’ you.”

“Aye, I’ll bet.”

Shoves were exchanged and brotherly insults slung at one another, but they still headed to find breakfast in each other’s good favour. And after a shower and something to eat, Murphy did admittedly look a little better. He’d probably woken up in the night and couldn’t remember, but either way, Connor still kept an eye on him throughout the day.

The improvement was, however, quickly wiped away the longer he was on his feet, though every enquiry about how he felt was rebuffed immediately with a scowl or an eye roll and ever-original curse.

Over the next few days, he looked worse and worse, though now he wasn’t the only one who appeared to be coming down with something. It was to be expected – they were in very close quarters with one another day in and day out – it made sense that a cold would spread easily. Connor just counted his blessings that he hadn’t started showing symptoms yet. Colds were a pain in the ass, but Murphy with a cold was the very definition of the phrase. Unless he was drugged up to his eyeballs on decongestants and painkillers, he moaned, and he whined, knowing that he’d eventually get what he wanted. Because when either of her boys were ill, their mother – while telling them to man up and deal with it – would still make them their favourite food and make sure they were taken care of. And when she wasn’t around, the other brother would take over. Of course, when you’re fourteen and your brother is off his tits on flu meds, taking care of him falls second to brotherly torment. But when it came down to it, they both made half decent nurses when the time called for it. Only now, Murphy was determined to deny this virus into nonexistence.

It was around midday when Connor was approached by one of the former Woodbury residents. Her name was Sasha, and her no-nonsense attitude was definitely something Connor could applaud. It was definitely a trait that more people needed to pick up nowadays. Straightening up, he gave her a nod of acknowledgement as he pulled off the thick gardening gloves he’d been loaned.

“Hey”

“Afternoon – you needin’ somethin’?”

“In a way – you feel up to coming on a supply run? We could use the extra pair of hands, and I’ve seen you shoot.”

“And you like what you see?”

His cheeky smirk was met only with a raised brow.

“I’ve seen better, but you’ll do. So? Are you in?”

Thinking on it for a moment, he cast a glance in Murphy’s general direction, before giving her a nod of confirmation.

“Aye, I’m in. Just tell me when and where.”

“By the cars in fifteen.”

“Right you are.”

Once she’d gotten a good head start back to the cell blocks, Connor went the same way, soon finding his brother and informing him of where he’d go. And of course, telling Murphy that he was going alone wasn’t taken well. Not only was he in no fit state to go anywhere, but after a little elaboration-of-the-truth, Connor explained that there was no room for Murphy to come too. But eventually, after assuring him he’d be careful, eventually he backed down, his scowl beginning to get lost under the mess of his hair. To be fair, both of them were in desperate need of a cut, but they figured when it got too ridiculous they’d find scissors from somewhere and hack away at it; they’d done it once, how hard could it be to repeat it?

Exchanging a quick hug, Connor clapped his brother on the back as he approached the car and climbed in, checking his gun over as the engine was startled into life. He didn’t like it, but as they pulled out of the gates and drove off, there was nothing Murphy could do. He knew Connor would more than likely come back, but it still felt wrong, one of them going out into danger without the other.

Wandering down to the animal pen, he slowed to a stop next to the space sectioned off for the lone horse they kept, holding out a hand for the creature to smell as it approached him, smiling to himself as it leisurely nuzzled his fingers, pushing its head closer to him once it was comfortable enough to be petted. He was a handsome beast, with a coat of rich dark brown and a good temperament. In fact, he hardly seemed bothered by the world going to hell at all. While sheep were great and all, looking after the horses at their father’s place was something Murphy always enjoyed. It’s definitely true what they say about keeping animals, that they’re great for relieving stress and all that. That just being around them can be therapeutic. He didn’t know this one’s name, but they’d warmed to each other soon enough.

Eventually he was called back up to the cell blocks to assist with something or another, and as if on cue, the horse seemed to simply lose interest in being given so much attention, turning away as Murphy patted its neck and began the trek back up to the prison. His head was really starting to hurt now – a sharp discomfort, starting behind his eyes and crackling every now and then up to his temple – a feeling not helped by the general sound of people talking and laughing, with kids shouting at one another as they played. He just felt drained, worn down – like he hadn’t slept in days. His symptoms all pointed towards a cold, but he’d never had one like this in his life; perhaps it was just the lack of medication at his disposal, but regardless, he knew tomorrow he’d wake up even more clogged and congested and disgusting than he had today. All he had to do was see it through for a few days, but until then, being in a genuinely good mood was sounding more and more like a pipe dream.

If Connor had left around midday, then it must have been about four when he finally returned, bloodied but successful, though the distracted look on his face didn’t go unnoticed as he headed up to their cell to drop off what he’d brought back, nor was the cough that racked his brother’s body. He did his best to suppress it as Connor made himself at home, though it was a bottle of whiskey pulled out from amidst the various scavenged cans and containers was what had Murphy sitting up in bed, but soon his attention was turned back to Connor as he watched him pull off his jacket. It was filthy now – way beyond saving.

“You alright?”

Glancing over, Connor shook his head lightly, elaborating a moment later as he leant against the wall opposite the bunks, pushing his hands through his hair.

“Nah…you know the young fella? Zach, I think?”

“Yeah – he went with you lot didn’t he?”

“Aye, he did…Didn’t come back though. Got caught by a walker.”

“Christ…anyone else?”

He shook his head again.

“Just him. It was fucked up, Murph’ – we’re in this store lookin’ for shit, and suddenly they start fallin’ through the fuckin’ ceiling on us.”

“The fuck..?”

“Yeah…anyway. I’ll be back in a bit – and if you even dream of openin’ that without me, you’re dead, y’hear?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, brother” Murphy replied sweetly, tossing the whiskey from one hand to the other, the look he shot Connor was enough to get a smirk out of him. Only, when he returned a short while later, the conversation was soon turned back onto Murphy. As he took his usual place on the edge of the bottom bunk, the clinical, clean smell of soap filling the cell, he rapped his knuckle against Murphy’s knee as he rubbed a towel through his hair.

“How’re you feelin’? You don’t look much better, I’ve gotta be honest.”

“No, you don’t - You could stop worryin’ for a change.”

“Aye, I could – but if I did that, then I wouldn’t have gone lookin’ for these, would I?”

Leaning forward to rummage in his bag, finally he straightened up again, and unceremoniously chucked a packet of throat soothers across to Murphy, who, to his credit, did catch them just as fast.

“They’re probably going to taste like shit, but they’re the best I could find.”

“On second thought, if it gets me more free shit, you can worry all you like”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll fuckin’ bet.” Taking the whiskey from the safety and security of the crook of Murphy’s arm, Connor nudged him with it as he got to his feet.

“Get some rest, a’right? You need anythin’?”

“Aw, Conn’ – look at you, going into nurse mode.”

“Don’t you start, I can just as easily lock you up here. Don’t you forget that.”

Settling down, Murphy held up his hands momentarily, telling Connor he was done dicking around for the time being. And after being asked again and telling him he didn’t need anything, he was left alone to try and get a little more sleep, which, as it turns out, worked a little too well. While it took him a long time to actually drift off, once he was out, he was _out._ Connor checked in on him once or twice, though when the evening turned into the night and he returned to the cell with some dinner, the joking tone from earlier quickly became a memory. He’d pushed the plate onto his bed and sat next to Murphy, tried to wake him to no avail. Only when he shook him firmly did he manage to rouse him out of sleep, though when he did come around he was groggy, disorientated. It took much longer for him to come to, and this time, Connor’s hand wasn’t slapped away when he held it to his forehead.

“Christ, Murph’ – you’re really warm…”

“…Preachin’ to the choir”

“I’m gettin’ the doctor-”

“Connor, leave it. At least till tomorrow, it’s late. I’ll live till then. I’m fine, really - s’just a fever. We’ve both had worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Aye, well, it’s the one I’m stickin’ to. Jus’ let me go back to sleep, alright? See if I can’t sleep it off.”

After some argument, Connor managed to convince him to eat something, though it was water that he practically choked down. Even when the cell block had finally settled for the night, it was only a few hours before Connor was being woken up to the sounds of Murphy vomiting violently into the toilet in the corner of the room.

By the next morning, his fever had sky rocketed, and not long after the group had woken up, the alarm from Cell block D had been raised.


	41. Down with the sickness

By the time Connor had made it to block D, it was chaos, pure and simple. People running and screaming, trying to get outside and away from the walkers that had somehow gotten inside. Several people had already been killed – all they could do now was put a bullet in their heads, and put those who were suffering out of their misery. One – an elderly man who’d had part of his shoulder and throat torn out – had grabbed at Connor’s jean leg to get his attention and to request his help, which he was hesitantly granted a moment later.

It wasn’t until the last of them had been silenced that they could begin to work out just what had gone wrong. Upon closer inspection, all of the walkers had been residents of this cell block, so at some point during the early morning hours, someone must have passed away somehow, turned, and begun to infect other members one by one. And with that theory in mind, it didn’t take long for them to put two and two together. Apparently the previous day, a young man named Patrick had been complaining, saying he hadn’t felt well and that he hadn’t looked much better.

Rick, Hershel and their resident doctor were knelt next to the dead boy’s body, and seemed to have forgotten that Connor was only a few feet away, or they were ignoring him for the time being. Either way, they made no attempt to hide what they were saying; that the lack of bite marks indicated that he’d died of some kind of disease and not due to a walker attack. Managing to eavesdrop every now and then as he said a quick prayer for each of the dead, it was when the doctor mentioned that it was likely a flu-like illness that he stopped short. In the past, viruses like that were spread by pigs and birds, and thrived in close quarters such as this. Maybe the fact that they were all already infected with the virus that caused people to turn maybe made this strain that much more aggressive.

“We need to hold a meeting – work out what the next step is” said Hershel, his answer coming soon after from Doctor Subramanian – was that his name? Connor couldn’t remember exactly.

“That’s not hard; we need to get everyone who might be infected, anyone who is showing symptoms separated from the rest of the group. Quarantine them until we can get more medicine.”

“By now, there’s no way of knowing who’s infected and who isn’t – we’ve all been exposed to it.” Rick replied, almost to himself as he cast his eyes over the corpse in front of them.

The people in cell block D were already in the highest risk category for infection, or at least as far as Rick knew. It wasn’t until Connor straightened up and spoke out that he realized how serious their situation actually was. Murphy had been sick days before Patrick had shown symptoms, which meant block C was also at risk as well – they’d need a large space to send those who’d succumbed to the virus, and those who hadn’t yet, especially the elderly and the children needed to be moved as well to lessen their chances. It’d be a big operation, and a delicate one at that. Panic wouldn’t help anything, and the news that there was a new sickness to worry about would surely cause it. They’d have to be careful.

One by one, the bodies of the dead were carried out, and someone assigned to start digging graves for them. And quickly, word spread about what had happened. People were scared, as was to be expected, which hurried the ‘council’ – as they called themselves – to make a decision. Where would the sick go? To block A. Where would everyone else live until the spread had died down? Block E. There was a plan in motion, but it only thinly veiled the lack of control they all felt over this new threat.

Connor had returned to their cell as soon as he could, and much to his surprise and relief, Murphy was awake and talking. However, he looked too ill for Connor to ignore. Getting him some more water, he sank down onto the edge of his brother’s bed as Murphy pushed himself up onto his elbow and took the drink from him.

“How’re you feelin’..?”

Waiting a beat, Murphy saved his smirk for when Connor looked back at him, waiting for an answer.

“What? You’re not gonna follow that up with some comment on how shit I look?”

Managing a small smile in return, Connor pushed a hand round the back of his neck, letting it rest there a moment.

“I can if you really want.”

“Nah, you’re alright.” Murphy replied, his voice rough and hoarse from where he’d been coughing so much. Despite his best efforts, he sounded so weak – like sitting up was taking more energy than he had. “What was all that about? All the shootin’ and yellin’?”

“…There were walkers in block D – Must’ve gotten in somehow, started killin’ people.”

“Jesus…did they find out how they got in? I thought that block was completely secure.”

The hesitation was even more obvious this time, and had it been any longer, Murphy would have called his brother out on it. But he got his answer eventually, although it took a few seconds for him to comprehend what exactly it meant for him.

“One of the others got sick a few days ago. Same thing as you I think…he must’ve died in the night, or sometime this mornin’, turned, started attackin’ people…”

A long stint of silence followed the explanation. Murphy took another drink, and dipped his fingers in the water to wipe across his forehead, and again for the nape of his neck, his skin already growing slick with sweat once again. In the time it took for either of them to speak again, Connor had gotten a clean cloth from their less-than-neat pile of clothing and the like, and soaked it in cold water for his brother to press to his face as he lay back down. It wasn’t much, but at this point, with nothing else to try and bring down his fever, it was all he could do.

“…So, whoever’s got this ‘flu’, whatever the fuck it is – they’re dyin’?”

“No, not-”

“Is that what you’re tryin’ to tell me? If it’s killin’ people I wanna know.”

“Murph’, it could easily just be Patrick who died from it. Maybe he was more prone to catchin’ shit, I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you heard of a teenager dyin’ of the fuckin’ flu?”

Pushing himself up once more, Murphy turned the cloth over and put it to the back of his neck, hanging his head forward for the moment.

“How many others have it..? Do they know?”

“…Aye. A few people now. They’re movin’ all of ‘em into block A sometime today.”

“Like that’ll help...if anyone else dies from it, I guess they’ll make it easier on the rest of ‘em. Let the walker do some of the work-”

“Shut up, Murph’. That’s not helpin’ anyone.”

“Tell you what, Connor – you come down with this fuckin’ thing and see how optimistic you are. What’s gonna happen to us if someone dies and turns? I’m serious. What’re they gonna do, lock us all away? Wait for us to die?”

“That’s not gonna happen – Look, I need to find out when we’re movin’ everyone. Try and rest, okay?”

“Right, like I’m-”

Almost as if on cue, a coughing fit overcame him in a matter of seconds, cutting off any attempt at finishing his sentence. Giving him a pat on the shoulder – a little out of sympathy, and a little out of gratitude that he couldn’t keep arguing – Connor got up to get him more water, taking the cloth from him in the process. When the coughing had finally subsided, he made Murphy lay back – thankfully, without protest this time. He supposed that’d be the only way to tell if he really was in danger or not; if he ever stopped arguing and complaining. He was as much stubborn as he was loyal, and was easily frustrated, especially by illness, as if his body was betraying him and keeping him from doing even simple things.

Connor left soon after that, waiting for him to doze off before leaving him alone, though he was hesitant to do so. He didn’t know how he was going to get Murphy to move from this block to block A – arguing alone seemed to of sapped him of any energy he’d saved up.

When the time came to separate the healthy from the infected, Connor had headed back to their cell assuming that getting Murphy to cooperate would be difficult – and he’d been right, but not for the reason he imagined. Like he had been every morning since he’d become sick, it was hard to wake him up again, and when he did manage to get a response out of him, he wasn’t pleased about being disturbed – not that that meant much. Getting him to walk was the next obstacle, because evidently, after nearly falling flat on his arse after only a few steps, Connor had to take most of his weight for him, slinging an arm around his waist and urging him to put his own around his neck. As a result, the journey there was a slow one, but they got there one step – and muttered encouragement – at a time.

This block wasn’t one either of the boys had spent much, if any, time in at all. In fact, it looked a lot like the rest of the uninhabited parts of the prison; dark, dank, and forgotten. A modern day oubliette, the atmosphere doing nothing to lessen the feeling that once the doors closed behind you, there was no going back while you still drew breath. There were a few people there already, taking cells and collapsing into the beds, almost completely unaware of what was going on around them. Finding the closest empty cell, Connor helped his brother to the bed, easing him back and frowning when he saw how much he was sweating – and when the back of his hand was pressed to his forehead, how high his temperature was.

“Conn’, seriously…stop fussin’. You got me here, now go on…fuck off.”

“Sorry, no can do. I’m gonna see if there’s anythin’ in the infirmary to help…you’re burnin’ up”

“Aye, you do that – and then you’ll go back to block C”

“Look at that; Macho Murph’, tryin’ to be all commandin’ and shit.”

Connor’s tone was doing its best to be playful, but the state Murphy was in made any kind of joke sound terrible.

“I’m serious, Connor – you shouldn’t be here. Let someone else keep an eye on us.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, I don’t know – the _actual fuckin’ doctor?”_ He rasped in reply, his voice still somehow managing to put across the sheer amount of contempt he had for the fact his brother was not listening to him.

“Oh, right – you’re gonna let some random guy take care of you. I’d forgotten how cooperative you used to be during hospital trips. How much you love medical professionals.”

“I don’t need _anyone_ -” interrupted once again by a fit of coughs, now causing more pain and discomfort than anything else, soon enough he continued his rant as if nothing had happened. Although, it had to be said, the interruption only seemed to piss him off that much more, making the rest of his point that much heavier with irritation.

“I don’t need anyone takin’ care of me, I’m not a fuckin’ five year old. What I _do_ need is you to get the fuck out of this fuckin’ cell and leave me alone.”

When Connor didn’t immediately get up to leave, Murphy actually pushed himself up – not by much, but enough to give Connor a surprisingly hard shove – hard enough to force him off of the edge of the bed and to his feet.

“Get the fuck out”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the arse, you know that? Now lie down and shut it – and you can stop fuckin’ pushin’ me while you’re at it-”

“Connor, I’m not fuckin’ around. Go back, get the fuck out.”

“Forget it.” Connor said simply, accompanying the statement with a shrug and a shake of the head. He could see Murphy getting visibly more angry and desperate, but even if it meant them falling out for a few days, Connor was prepared to be the bad guy.

“And what about when you end up catchin’ it?”

“Then you can wear the nurse’s uniform for a change-”

“This is _killin’ people_ , Connor – you can’t be here, you can’t get sick. Why aren’t you fuckin’ _listenin_ ’?”  
 __  
“Because you’re askin’ me to leave you here to rot, and that’s not happenin’.”  
  
“I’m askin’ you to leave me for a good fuckin’ reason! I’ve already got it, I’m already fucked – you don’t have it, but instead of lookin’ out for yourself, you’re bein’ a fuckin’ idiot and stickin’ around-”

Turning away to cough again, Connor waited for him to finish, trying to think of what he could say that’d make Murphy calm down. Honestly, he was amazed he could still find the energy to be this aggravating. Eventually, he managed to catch his breath, letting his forehead rest against the cool metal of the bedframe as he forced himself to open his eyes, looking at Connor with a resigned anger, and the unique brand of fear that came with it.

“…I’m gonna make you sick, and then I’m gonna die, and you’re gonna be stuck by yourself and I won’t be able to help-”

“Neither of us are dyin’. Not yet.” Connor cut in sharply, being mindful to lower his voice when he heard the groan of someone in the next cell over. “Murph’, I’ve been around you for days – we’ve shared a fuckin’ cell for Christ’s sake. I’m not sick. If I was gonna catch it, wouldn’t I be showin’ it by now?”

“I don’t want you here.”

It was a bid to piss him off, to make him leave. He knew that, and so the scathing words that’d practically been spat out were taken with a pinch of salt as Connor held out his hands at his sides, giving his brother a nasty glare in return.

“Well tough fuckin’ luck, sunshine. I’m stayin’, whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck you. And I fuckin’ mean it as well. Fuck you.”

“Aye, and you.”

Taking a spot against the wall as his own, Connor slumped down to the floor, bringing up one knee as he kept eye contact with his brother, knowing that Murphy would be the one to break it first. And sure enough, within seconds he’d rolled onto his side, turning to back to Connor and making a valiant attempt to fall asleep again, though each try was thwarted by coughing fits, each grating on his already torn-to-shreds throat and each taking even more effort to force out than the last.

When the coughing didn’t stop for well over a minute, the hand that went to rub his back was shrugged off, and the sound of his brother leaving the cell followed shortly after. And for a little while, Murphy felt a little better, knowing that, while he’d be bored and frustrated down here alone, at least his idiot, hero-complex sibling would see this particular virus through from the safety of the other cell blocks.

That thought, however, was wiped clean away when Connor returned soon after. And had it not been for the throat soothers being thrown to him and the water being placed down by the bed, he might have rounded on him for the second part of their fight. But, this time, he thought better of it, though he didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he just did his best to make sure he spoke as clearly as he could, the cold mint of the lozenge working a small miracle on his throat.

“….I’m sorry, Connor.”

“Aye. I know.”

“You’re still a fuckin’ prick.”

“Love you too, Murphy.”

 

 


	42. Icarus

For every hour that went by, more people were brought down to Block A, one after the other. Some looked sicker than others, but by the time the sun had gone down and they were all as settled as they could be, everyone was in the same boat. They hadn’t been abandoned by the others by any stretch; Doctor ‘S’, as people called him, could be found tending to those who weren’t fortunate enough to have loved ones looking after them, offering not only his expertise, but comfort as well. According to him, the virus had likely spread from the pigs to the prison, and given how closely everyone lived together, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to say that something like this would make its rounds very rapidly.

At one point during the next evening, Hershel made an appearance, checking in on every cell and every patient until he eventually came to Murphy’s, not knocking until Connor had lifted his head from his hands and opened his eyes. When he realized he wasn’t alone, he stood up and joined the older man at the door, both lowering their voices as they greeted one another.

“How’s he doing?”

“Hard to say; his fever keeps flarin’ up, and the coughin’s worse when he’s awake…but, it’s Murphy. He’s stubborn…he’s fightin’ it.”

“I can see that. And what about you? You look like you’re coping much better with it”

“Yeah, well – I’m lucky, I haven’t caught it. Not yet, anyway.”

“And you’re willing to stay down here..? It’s a risk, a big one.”

“It was only a few weeks ago that we found each other again, that I found out he wasn’t dead. If I stay in the other blocks with you lot, leave him here? What does that say about me?”

“Nothing bad. It says that you’re looking out for yourself – he’s your brother, but you need to take care of yourself as well.”

It only took a glance back into the cell for Connor to confirm his answer, though when it finally came it was even quieter than before, laced with a hesitant sort of acceptance.

“Aye, well…what happens if he doesn’t come back from this?”

 Looking back at Hershel, he just shrugged.  “What happens if he dies, and I’m not here? Because you know that’s a possibility, and I know it. And I’m not leavin’ him.”

It was admirable, certainly. The loyalty the two men had for each other. But it was plain as day that that loyalty could equally become the downfall of one – or both- of them. And yet, it was something Hershel could understand. If Beth or Maggie were as ill as this, he probably wouldn’t want to leave them either.

“And you say he’s the stubborn one.” He said with a smile, which Connor returned a second later.

“I came down here to tell you; Daryl, and some of the others – they’re planning to do a run to a veterinary college. It’s quite a drive, but it should have medicine we can use. They wanted to know if you’d go with them.”

“Look, I-”

“I know, you don’t want to leave him. You want to stay here – but you’re a good shot, you’d be a big help. And the extra pair of hands means more supplies being brought back here.”

“I appreciate what you’re sayin’, but there’s more than enough people in the group who can go instead of me.”

Already, it was clear that this wasn’t something Hershel was going to win on. And while Connor had phrased it nicely, he could see that the further he pushed it, the deeper he’d dig his heels in. So, he left it for the time being, leaving Connor with some advice before going on his way. But, as luck would have it, he wasn’t left alone with his thoughts for long; Murphy woke up in a sudden burst of coughs, each on racking through him with more ferocity than the last, until they completely subsided once again, leaving him panting for air and cursing under his breath once he’d finally caught it back.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Sounds nasty”

“No shit. Can I get some water..?”

“Sure. Y’want anythin’ to eat as well? I can get somethin’.”

Murphy just shook his head as he pushed himself up onto his elbow, slowly wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, thankful for the drink once it’d been handed to him. Connor took a seat on the chair he’d borrowed from outside, resting his arms on his knees as he pushed his fingertips through his hair with a drawn out, weary exhale. He looked exhausted, despite his best efforts to sound otherwise. It would have taken a complete idiot to miss it, and as he made himself sit up properly, Murphy took the opportunity to take the spotlight off of himself for a while.

“Y’know, I’m thinkin’ you’re startin’ to look just as shit as me.”

“Sorry Murph’….s’not possible. There’ve been studies, tests…turns out? You look the worst. Walkers have actually seen pictures of you since you got sick, and you know what they found?”

“What?”

“Their self-esteem shot through the fuckin’ roof.”

The snort of laughter set off another coughing fit, though thankfully this one wasn’t quite as bad.

“Seriously.” He pressed, his voice a cracked, hoarse mess of a sound. “You should go back to Block C, get some rest. I’ll still be here in a few hours. Don’t even know why the fuck I’m tellin’ you that – I’m the one with the fuckin’ flu.”

“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all.”

“Or you’re coming down with it too...”

“Nah…I’m just tired. Really, don’t worry.”

“If you’re getting’ sick, Connor – you can say. I’m not gonna pitch a fit.”

“Like hell you wouldn’t.” Shaking his head, Connor managed another smile – a little more reassuring this time. “I’m fine, Murphy. Promise.”

“Pinky promise? Cross y’heart and hope to die? All that shite?”

“Oh, aye”

Even in sickness, the mocking tone to his brother’s voice was spot on, but it helped to lighten the mood. They talked a little more, and laughed, and eventually got around to reminiscing, as they often did. There weren’t many memories that they had that didn’t involve the other one way or another, and despite the initial mention of their mother causing a small, inevitable moment of silence and sadness, they managed to carry on talking about her and their childhood soon enough. It made them miss their home, more so than when they’d first moved to the states. That was probably because, before everything had gone to hell – no, before that – before they’d taken to killing the corrupt, they could have taken a flight back to Ireland whenever they wanted (or whenever they could afford it). They had the option to go back and visit the house they’d grown up in, to see their mum and assure her that they weren’t doing nearly as bad as they usually were. Because God only knew what she’d say if she ever saw their old apartment, if you could even call it that – they’d never hear the end of it.

“Do you reckon it spread everywhere..? I mean the walkers, the infection…how far do you reckon it got?”

“By now? It’s gotta be everywhere. I bet this is one of the only times the movies gets it right, you know? When they show sick people gettin’ on planes and givin’ it to everyone they know. Before you know it, the city’s gone, then the country, and by the time they’ve grounded flights, half the planet’s showin’ symptoms.”

“So…maybe it’s not all bad. I mean, Ireland, the South anyway – there ain’t that many people, not closely packed anyway. Things might be better there.”

Considering the point a while, Connor gave his brother a look when he knew he wouldn’t notice. While he wasn’t necessarily a pessimist by nature, it was always a surprise when he came out with anything that hopeful. Not surprising in a bad way, quite the contrary – but in this instance, Connor couldn’t help but feel that any hope they kidded themselves into believing now was nothing but a pipe dream. The world now was a cruel one, and was inhabited by cruel people; why add to that by leading themselves on? There were things they could do day by day to make them optimistic, but there was always the danger that they could fly too close to the sun.

“Hey…I don’t think I told you, but they’re takin’ a group out on a run tomorrow – goin’ to get meds and all that kind of shit. So, if you could do me a favour and hang in there ‘til then, that’d be grand”

“That would probably have been a good ice breaker, but hey, better late than never. You goin’ with them?”

“What, and leave you to fend for yourself?”

“Connor, come on – if they need the help, you should go.”

“You sound like Hershel, tryin’ to recruit me…”

“Aye, because you’d be helpful to ‘em. But, I guess he already tried that”

“You heard..?”

“Bits and pieces. Didn’t catch the bit where you started whisperin’, all secretive and the like. I’m startin’ to think you like the old bastard better than me.”

“Aw, you gettin’ jealous? Is macho Murph’ feelin’ left out?”

“That depends what you’re keepin’ from me.” Murphy replied, half joking, and half serious. His suspicions were only raised when Connor dodged the subject completely, rummaging in Murphy’s jacket pocket for the bashed up packet of cigarettes.

“It was nothin’, Murphy – leave it.”

“If it was nothin’, you wouldn’t mind tellin’ me. What’d he tell you? Or what’d you have to say to him that you can’t say to me?”

“Fuckin’ nothin’, like I said. I’ll see you in a bit, I’m goin’ for a fag”

“Aye, I can see that – my fuckin’ fags, too”

“When the apocalypse ends, I’ll buy y’enough to last till Christmas.”

And with that, he was gone, and in a rare piece of solitude, Murphy let himself fully relax – which, in this case, meant bringing down his guard enough to let himself react to the pain the ache in his head was causing him. Sleep didn’t help much – if anything it made it worse. Christ, he’d had bad hangovers in the past, but this was something new. He knew eventually, if he didn’t get any kind of medication soon, he’d have to let Connor see how sick he really felt. If he wasn’t in full blown mother hen mode now, then when that day came he’d probably go into overdrive.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly but surely, Murphy made himself get up, doing his best to avoid head rush as he took his towel from the pile of stuff Connor had brought down from their old cell, and pushed it into the bucket of water at the foot of his bed, which he was forced to sit back down on when a wave of dizziness made the room begin to spin. It must have looked ridiculous; a grown man with a dripping wet towel draped over his head. But his temperature was all over the place, and while he knew in a while he’d probably be shivering again, for now this was the least he could do to bring himself some relief. Ideally, he’d be standing under the shower right now, letting the water there do a much better job of cooling him off, but knowing his luck he’d probably pass out, get found later completely buck nude and out of it.

Oh, the jokes that’d come out of that, if he made it out of this any way.

No – there was no ‘if’. There was no way in hell, after everything he’d been through, that he was getting taken out by a trumped up cold. He felt like crap, but he’d be fine. He’d be fine.

This thought circulated around his head long after Connor got back, and long after they’d both managed to fall asleep again, though the lighter haired of the two fund himself waking every few hours; not because of noise or some other external disturbance, but because of the constant anxiety that played on the back of his mind. What if he woke up and Murphy wasn’t breathing? What if he died in the night and turned, and then went for him? What if he woke up the next morning and Murphy just…didn’t? And while that thought had rooted itself firmly in his head, he found a small level of comfort in the fact that he was there. At least this time around, he’d be there if anything happened, whereas before it was the element of ‘not knowing’ that’d kept him awake at night.

The sun was only just rising when he woke up for good. He checked on his brother, talked to him for a bit when he woke up as well, and when he dozed off again, he replaced the cloth on his forehead after feeling how high his temperature was climbing. But in the time that it took him to wash, get changed, and get himself something to eat, Murphy’s fever spiked again- and this time, it refused to go down.

By this point, Murphy’s ability to give a shit about the fact he was being looked after like a child had long since gone out the window. He didn’t know if this virus was made worse by sleep or what, but, frighteningly so, this time it honestly felt like he might have been going on borrowed time. Of course, it’s always darkest before the dawn – it has to get worse before it gets better – but all in the space of a few hours, every thought that’d kept him up came back one at a time, telling him he likely wouldn’t wake up the next time he went to sleep. That he was going to die from the fucking flu and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to help him.

Connor talked to him, tried to keep him distracted – they prayed a little, but it wasn’t God that Murphy was happy to have with him then, if He even was there at all in that moment. And it wasn’t God’s arm that he’d grabbed maybe a little too tightly, opening its owner’s eyes in alarm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Other than the obvious..? Nothin’. I’m just…I’m glad you’re here.”


	43. Back when we were kids

“Ma! Hey, Ma!”

“For God’s sake Murphy, you’ll wake the whole bloody town if y’keep up that yellin’”

“Well y’wouldn’t hear me if I didn’t fuckin’ yell-”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth!”

“Sorry, sorry – look, come up here for a minute? Connor’s worse – he’s really hot and all that.”

Hanging over the bannister with skinny arms folded, Murphy waited for the familiar sounds of the hallway floorboards creaking that would tell him their mum was on her way. He’d probably get a clip round the ear for swearing at her, but hey – it’d gotten the job done. Only once she’d appeared at the bottom of the stairs did he give her a winning smirk, one that would hopefully be endearing enough to earn him a free pass. Of course, it didn’t, but she still lead the way back into her son’s bedroom, with the half-dressed twin following close behind her.

The room was small, and even with the light on, the fact it was still dark outside meant the space seemed less of a bedroom and more of a cell. It only seemed to get more compact the more the two boys grew, but they didn’t complain. Much. There were a few posters here and there, the usual amount of mess that had been shoved under beds in an attempt to hide it from view. But, instead of two empty beds, there was only one – and as promised, one child still huddled in bed, awake but not making much of an effort to look conscious either.

Feeling someone sit on the edge of the bed, finally Connor turned over, shying away from the light while his eyes adjusted. The hand that was pressed to his forehead was wonderfully cold compared to the burning heat of the fever he’d woken up to – or rather, Murphy had woken him up to. Technically he wasn’t really allowed in their room much until Connor was better, but then, Murphy hadn’t always been one to do as he was told.

“How’re you feelin’ this mornin’, love?”

“Like crap…”

“’least your face matches” Chimed in Murphy, who just gave his mum a winning grin when she shot him a warning glance.

“Alright, well…you’ll be pleased t’hear, you’re not goin’ anywhere today.”

“Oh come on! That’s not fair, I had to go in when I was sick!”

“You were well enough to be a cheeky shite to the doctor, if I remember correctly. And all you had was a cold.”

“So does he” He replied jokingly, though the tone was unfortunately lost on their mother this time around.

“Oh? Does he now? Well how about this – you give the doctor a call and tell him that there’s been a clash of professional opinions. The one with the medical trainin’ says its pneumonia, but the brother says it’s a cold. Let me wonder who I’m going to listen to. Now go on, finish gettin’ ready and get breakfast – if you miss the bus again your brother won’t be the only one bed-bound.”

That earned a hoarse laugh from Connor, though it quickly turned into a fit of coughs, which their mother took as a sign to go and dig out the number for the local surgery. Giving him a kiss on the forehead, she pushed up from the bedside and made her way out, leaving the two alone.

“You know you’re sendin’ me to sit through double science by myself.”

“You’ll be fine…don’t forget, take lots’a notes, pay attention – be a good boy”

“Fuck off.”

“Ah ah – you’ve gotta be nice to me. I’m sick, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah – you’re a fuckin’ skiver is what you are.”

When he just got a shit-eating grin in return, Murphy took a pillow from his bed and chucked it across the room, where it hit Connor’s face with a soft, triumphant thud. He ignored whatever was said as he pulled his school tie around his neck and under his collar, only haphazardly tying it as he eventually found his shoes, his brother watching from the bed where he was, quite contentedly, not dressed.

“What time is it, anyway?” He asked, voice croaky from where he’d been coughing not long before.

“I dunno…quarter to, maybe? Why?”

“Just wonderin’ – waitin’ for you to leave so’s I can get some sleep”

“Yeah? Is that what you want? Well why didn’t y’say so?” Murphy replied in a mocking tone, clambering up onto his brother’s bed, one foot either side of him as he began to jump. Connor did his best to drag him down, but nearly got a knee to the face as a result – but regardless, both were laughing like devils in no time, or at least, until Connor’s turned into more painful, rattling coughs, and they heard their mother shouting up from the kitchen; something along the lines of ‘If I come up there and find something’s broken, I’m going to be down to one child before you can blink’

Evidently, the cackling from her son’s room didn’t do much to improve her mood, given that she followed up the first threat with an added ‘Murphy! Don’t think I can’t hear you – get down here, now!’, which was again followed by someone jumping on the floor and running out to the bannister;

“It wasn’t me! It was Connor!” Came the all-so-innocent tone, coloured with the usual amount of cheek and teasing.

“Oh I’ll bet it bloody was – come on, you’re going to be late!”

“It was, Ma! He’s fakin’ it – he’s up here right now-”

“I’m goin’ to count to _five…”_

Strangely enough, Murphy appeared in the kitchen doorway in record time – she’d barely reached three before he’d come thumping down the stairs, bag open and hanging off of one shoulder. Once she’d caught sight of him, Annabelle rolled her eyes with a ‘tsk’ of the tongue, beckoning the boy over so that she could tidy him up a little. Tugging his collar straight, she undid his tie and started it again, smirking at the look of utter petulance on his face - the look that only a twelve year old could muster.

“Christ, look at the state of you. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”

“I look fine, Ma – stop fussin’”

“Aye, if ‘fine’ suddenly means ‘like I’ve been dragged through a hedge’. Listen…you’ve got to let your brother get better, alright? Don’t get him worked up – and don’t give me that look, you know exactly what I mean. No jumpin’ around and all that. It won’t be much longer now.”

“I know. S’just boring.”

“I know. But the sooner he’s better, the sooner the two of you can go back to pissin’ me off. Now, have you got everythin’?”

“Yeah”

“Are you sure?”

“Ma-”

“Alright, alright. I wasn’t sure if you were wantin’ any lunch today, but I suppose if you’re sure you’ve got everything…”

“Y’wouldn’t’ve let me go without it”

“You want to bet? Go on, give us your bag”

Doing as he was asked, Murphy went to sit on the edge of the table as he stole a slice of toast, but was quickly shooed off of it with a click of his mother’s fingers, forcing him to pull out a chair instead.

“I was wonderin’-”

“Ooh, here we go…what’re you wantin’ now?” she replied with a raised brow, handing his backpack to him a moment later. “If you’re gonna ask if you can skip school as well, you already know the answer.”

“Nah, nothin’ like that – I was wonderin’, can I have my pocket money a bit early..? I wanna get somethin’ after school”

Obviously, this wasn’t what his Mum had been expecting to hear, given the narrow-eyed look of curiosity she was giving him.

“What sort of something?”

“Nothin’ bad, promise – come on, Ma – please? I’ve gotta go”

After a minute of consideration, eventually she gave in, and Murphy was out the door into the miserable gloom of the early morning, the kiss that’d been pressed to his head rapidly wiped away with a smirk.

She never did find out what he’d used his money for, but, as soon as he’d gotten home and run upstairs, Connor got to. He’d been drifting lazily in and out of sleep for the past hour when his brother had come in, immediately looking to see if he was awake as he dumped his bag on his own bed.

“Conn’? You alive?”

When all he got was a muffled noise of acknowledgement in response, Murphy just rolled his eyes and got changed out of his uniform, pulling on the first shirt he could find and going back to his bag, pulling something out of it and approaching the mound of duvet that was concealing his ill-stricken sibling. He gave it a poke; nothing. Another, and it shifted a little.

“Connor – wake up”

Eventually he did roll over, his face hesitantly poking up out of the covers, hair mussed and eyes heavy with sleep.

“What..?”

“I said wake up”

“…Aye. I got that much. What is it? Why’d you want me?”

“I got’cha somethin’ – might cheer you up, make you feel better.”

Now he was a little more awake. Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, frowning at the non-descript package he was being handed. While he opened it, Murphy flicked his eyes from the bag to Connor, hoping his reaction would live up to expectation. And it did indeed, with Connor’s face lighting up, despite the tiredness that clung to him – an expression that turned into a rough, hollow-sounding laugh when Murphy brought out the second half of his surprise. This time, it was just a bag of popcorn, though combined with the movie that’d come before it, emotionally he certainly felt better to some degree. He tucked his feet up closer to him as his brother invited himself to take a seat on the end of the bed, already pestering him to open the bag. Holding the video box up, Connor nudged Murphy with his foot to get his attention.

“I thought you hated this one?”

He shrugged. “S’alright. Besides, it’s not for me, so…”

“Aw, Murphy-”

“Don’t start”

“I’m not startin’ anythin’ – come here, come on!”

“Connor, no – get off! You’re gonna give me the fuckin’ plague-!”

Now, Murphy was a sweet kid. They both were. But equally, neither enjoyed having a big deal made of that fact. Both preferred the image they’d managed to craft for themselves on the school yard – one probably bloated and exaggerated in Connor’s mind – the one with black eyes and ripped school blazers and just enough rule breaking to give them a sense of amateur rebellion.

And so, in times like this, the only thing Connor could really do was torment his twin, probably with a little physical pain and a lot of sibling affection. The exchange was, at first, very one-sided, and purposefully drawn and over the top, with Connor regaining enough strength to push himself onto his knees and wrap an arm around Murphy’s neck, awkwardly collapsing and rubbing his knuckles into his twins scalp hard and fast. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of swearing – from Murphy’s end, at least -and eventually the only thing that made them both stop was Murphy calling Connor something only half thought-through and neither of them being able to stop laughing. This quickly made Connor start coughing and proceed to not stop for some time, but once he’d recovered, they both settled into each other’s company, talking about what else Connor had missed at school, and generally anything else they’d meant to share with the other but hadn’t been able to. Even homework seemed to give Connor a good enough distraction from how shit he felt. And when that’d been done – a rarity, especially where Murphy and maths was concerned – they just talked some more. Had the weather been better…well, they wouldn’t have been able to go outside. But it would have been a nicer change to the thunder and rain they’d had to put up with for the past few days.

Once they’d both eaten and Connor had taken his antibiotics, they gathered his pillows, wrapped him in his duvet, and headed down stairs to the sitting room, ‘Once upon a time in west’ tucked safely between the bag of popcorn and Murphy’s chest.

Neither of the boys seemed to pay much mind to the fact that Connor shouldn’t have been out of their room, or that they shouldn’t really have been together at all – but when Murphy had said how bored it’d been with his brother out of action for the past week, he’d meant it. He was only allowed in their room to sleep until Connor was recovered, but suddenly being without his usual companion meant that time was suddenly much more of a chore to fill, and he wasn’t even the one who was ill. Although, even though this was Connor’s surprise and something for him, he had to be honest; it wasn’t a great movie, not in Murphy’s opinion anyway. It was one of the only things they really differed on in terms of movie tastes – most things they could agree on, but old westerns were not something Murphy could imagine ever growing on him. This was one he knew Connor had seen a lot in the past and knew that he liked, and given how crappy he’d sounded whenever he spoke and how much he kept coughing, he was willing to sit through this for the hundredth time.

They were only about twenty minutes from the end when he heard the front door open and their mother come in, muttering something under her breath in regards to the terrible weather outside. As she came in and took in the scene, she almost went to tell Connor off for getting out of bed, but stopped herself at the last moment when she realized he was fast asleep, still wrapped in his duvet, curled dutifully at his twin’s side, with his head resting on Murphy’s shoulder. Exchanging a few looks and mouthed words, eventually Murphy was summoned to the kitchen, being careful not to disturb his brother as he got to his feet and headed out of the room.

“What’s he doin’ out of bed?”

Cutting right to the chase. Should have seen that coming.

“We’re just watchin’ a movie…it’s not a big deal-”

“Aye, maybe not to you, but it’s not good for him. You know what the doctor said?”

“Yes…”

“Go on.”

“That he shouldn’t be around people, I know.”

“And he should be restin’ – I know you’re both goin’ stir crazy, bored out your bleedin’ minds. But I need you to not encourage him, Christ knows he doesn’t need it any way.”

“He has been – it’s just a movie, I wanted to try-”

“I know what you were tryin’ to do, but you should have saved it for when he’s out of the woods. It’s freezin’ in that room, it’s not good for him. Are you listenin’?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because if he gets worse, he’ll have to go to hospital, and then what’ll you both do?”

That possibility had slipped to the back of Murphy’s mind, judging by the look of guilt that came over him. With a sigh, his mother muttered under her breath as she pulled him into a hug which he returned tightly.

“What am I going to do with you two?”

Managing a shy smile once he’d pulled away, Murphy did as instructed and went back to the living room, turned off the TV, and roused his brother long enough to persuade him that going back to bed was a much better option that the couch.

Falling into bed with a groan, Connor instinctively moved up to give Murphy room to sit with him, rubbing his eyes gingerly as another roll of thunder boomed through the skies outside their window.

“Christ...when did I fall asleep?”

“About half an hour into the movie, maybe more. How’re you feelin’?”

“Tired…like shit, mostly.”

“Come on, Connor – hurry up and get better. Seriously, you lettin’ a jumped up cold knock you on your arse is gonna come back to bite you later on”

“What d’you mean?”

“Think about it – if this is what you’re like with a chest infection, how’re you gonna cope in the zombie apocalypse? ‘Cause you should know, if you get infected, I’m not stickin’ around to play nurse”


	44. Darkest before the dawn

“You remember that, right?”

“Most borin’ two weeks of my life. Yeah, I remember.”

“That’s all this is…you’re just takin’ your sweet time in realizin’ it and gettin’ well.”

“Oh, trust me – I’m doin’ my best here. You’re not lookin’ too great either, y’know…been coughin’ more, same as me.”

He didn’t need a verbal reply, nor give his brother a knowing look to know he was right. As it stood, Murphy no longer possessed the energy to be angry with him for staying. Connor had it, that much was obvious. He looked pale and, as much as he tried to hide it, had been dizzy, and despite his best efforts, had been hacking his lungs up at a rate that make most cases of the flu look like a 24 hour bug. All they could do now was wait for the group to return, and hope they had been successful and that they’d brought enough supplies with them. As it stood there were a lot of people who’d come down with whatever this sickness was, and for many of them, medicine was the only thing that’d give them a chance. Murphy felt like he was on his last legs and he was one of the stronger ones; he didn’t want to know how many people had it worse.

Motioning for Murphy to move up a little, Connor finally gave in and moved to sit on the bed, resting his head back against the wall, the chill from the concrete a welcome change to the coat of sweat that’d settled across his skin. Handing him some water, Murphy directed another cough into the crook of his arm. His throat had been shredded from the infection and the near constant effort of coughing, his body trying it’s best to rid his lungs of something, not realizing that its efforts were futile. This meant that not only did any deep breaths sting and ache, but also speaking made him sound entirely unlike his usual self. As he copied his brother and let his head relax against the wall behind them, Murphy let his eyes rest shut as he croaked out his contribution to their trip down memory lane.

“There was the time you got food poisoning – can’t forget that”

“Oh Christ, don’t remind me…wait, you got it as well didn’t you?”

“Aye. Back then though, a few days outta school? Totally worth it.”

Connor nodded, and smiled softly, unaware that it was only to himself.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know how Ma did it…we were right little shits. Must’ve driven her fuckin’ mental.”

When he didn’t get a reply straight away, he cast a glance over to where Murphy still hadn’t opened his eyes again, though before he could prompt one out of him, he got his response.

“Can we not talk about her?”

With an empathetic, almost apologetic nod and a hoarse throat clearing, the subject was shifted ever so slightly.

“I’ve, ah…I’ve gotta be honest, I didn’t see us here.” The look he got from Murphy pushed him to clarify his point, gesturing tiredly to the cell walls. “Here, prison.”

“You thought we’d never get caught..?”

“At the time..? Nah. You get cocky, I guess…but before all that, I mean. Back in Boston, before everythin’ changed. Didn’t imagine any’a this happenin’…”

To his left, Murphy rested his head down on the knees he’d pulled closer to his chest, Connor’s words beginning to become muffled against the lightning strikes of head pain he was doing his best to will away. He simultaneously wanted any and all noise to stop, but equally, talking helped to keep them both distracted. He didn’t know how long he’d kept Connor waiting for a reply when he eventually croaked one out.

“…Do you regret it? Any of it?”

“Nah…not a second. Lookin’ at the bigger picture, you know, we did some good. No way I’m gonna sit around feelin’ bad for gettin’ rid of scumbags like that. Why? Do you?”

A shake of the head was all he got for a response, because before Murphy could say anything else, Connor was getting to his feet with a sudden, unexpected urgency, grasping for the cell door. By the time Murphy had looked up at registered what was happening, a walker was already reaching between the iron bars, his face pressed into the gaps as the grinding, gasping jaw worked away at nothing but the noises crawling from its throat. Fingers stretched out, clawing awkwardly mere inches from the arm that was pulled away from the door. Stumbling back, Connor had to catch himself to keep from falling, mind quickly going to the last place he’d left his gun and snatching it up. Murphy was on his feet as well now, a hand pressed firmly to Connor’s shoulder to keep himself upright. The sudden movement hadn’t been a wise choice, his grip tightening as a swell of numbing dizziness rushed through his head, forcing him to close his eyes for a half second to try and clear his vision. The door had come open and the thing had begun to amble inside, eyes fixed on the two men until Connor’s shot put it out of its assumed misery and it fell back, finally still again.

The gunshot obviously alarmed others in the cell block, with some coming out to investigate. Murphy had since reclaimed his place on the bed, closing his eyes and hanging his head as he began to cough again, trying his hardest not to pass out or choke to death. He’d reassured his brother with a wave of the hand, telling him he was fine and to leave him be, which he did. The walker was definitely dead, but he was amazed he’d hit him at all with how out of it he felt. Upon closer inspection, Connor recognised the body as the man who’d been in the cell to their left, which he told Hershel when he came into view in the doorway of their cell.

The body was taken away shortly after that, though the fact that Murphy was still coughing, now increasingly violently, had his concerns turned towards him next. Doctor S came to take a look at him – not that there was anything he could really do, and gradually Murphy managed to breath normally again. His throat felt like someone had gone at it with a belt sander and his chest throbbed terribly, but the worst of it was how hard it was convincing himself that he was going to come back from this, let alone convincing Connor. It was plain as day on his face and his brother’s that he was deteriorating fast, that he wouldn’t be around much longer if the group didn’t get back and that, worst case scenario, Connor would be following suit soon after.

Their cell door was locked after that, with the both of them trying to talk to stay distracted and to keep their minds from wandering too far from the present. Connor left only to get more water, slowing his pace on his way back to spare each of the other cells a look. Not many others were on their feet now, with most in bed and trying to sleep amidst the coughing and crying. With only the windows acting as a source of light, and that light weakened by clouds, the block had been turned from a safe haven into a crypt, with the only difference being that not all of the bodies had passed on. It had become a miserable place, the air thick and heavy with dread and fear and resignation. It would have been easy to come to the conclusion that they’d been abandoned down here to die off slowly, though Connor sincerely hoped no one was thinking that. Rick would be back with the others, if he’d even gone at all. They’d be alright. It was times like this that he knew they had to be optimistic, even if seeing his brother weakened by pain and unable to sleep made that thought seem like nothing more than wishful thinking. He himself was really beginning to feel the strain the illness was taking on his body as the hours went by and they began another long, uncomfortable night. He was so tired, and Murphy even more so. He’d rapidly went from feeling frozen solid to febrile and lethargic, with sweat coating his face and neck, water from the shower only bringing very temporary relief. Still, he made himself stay as awake as he could, making sure he was there if needed, and doing what he could to bring Murphy’s temperature down.

By the time the sky was stained with dawn, he was even worse, with his breathing rattling and uneven and his body exhausted from lack of sleep and all the coughing. After a long draw from the water bottle, Connor wetted the rag that’d been practically plastered to his sibling’s forehead, folding it and replacing it across pyretic skin. Making him drink was something of a challenge, but for once, not because Murphy was being difficult. It was as if just sitting up was too much effort to even be considered. Still, he encouraged him, with a hand coming up to press between his shoulder blades in case he needed the support to stay upright.

“They’re takin’ their time, I’ll say that much” Connor said in a low voice so he didn’t disturb anyone else, with Murphy offering an indignant scoff as he lowered himself back down into the pillow.

“That’s one way of puttin’ it…” Christ, it hurt to talk – and evidently that fact showed clear as day. Still, he continued, figuring out that whispering was the best he could comfortably do. “You should’a gone with ‘em, y’know.”

“Don’t start that again. I wouldn’t’ve left y’here, especially lookin’ like you do now”

“Nah…if you were with ‘em, they’d’ve been back already, with more than enough shit for all of us. This lot…they’ve got no clue. Need someone with a bit of brain leftover…”

For the first time in a long while, both of them smiled, with Connor placing a hand on his brother’s arm, his thumb rubbing soothing lines into the skin when he clenched his eyes shut against what was most likely the signs of another bad headache.

“Aye…you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am…when have I ever been wrong...?”

“Y’want the list alphabetically or chronologically?”

“Fuck off…pass me the water again, will you..?”

Connor did as requested, letting him finish it off this time. Swallowing back the last of the bottle’s contents with a bit of effort, Murphy revelled in the few seconds of relief it brought as he looked to his brother once more.

“How’re you doin’..?”

The seemingly obvious question earned Murphy a deadpan look, but when he wordlessly pushed for an answer, Connor indulged him, weighing up mentally how honest he should be. Murphy was hard to lie to, and so eventually he opted for the truth, every word chosen carefully but no less heavy.

“…I don’t know if I can keep this up much longer. I’m fuckin’ tired, I feel like I’m shuttin’ down slowly”

“Aye, well – it only gets more fun, trust me.”

“I can see that – I don’t know how the fuck you’re still conscious, not that I’m complainin’. Rather know you’re still in the land of the livin’…”

“The way I’m goin’…? If they don’t hurry the fuck up, I’m probably not gonna be in that land much longer-”

“Don’t.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“I don’t give a shit. I don’t wanna talk about that and I’m not gonna listen to you talk it either.”

And that was that. They sat in silence for a while, both cooling off in their own ways and trying to think of different things they could talk about that wasn’t their probable demise. And that topic change came in the form of Connor smiling, softly at first, but letting it evolve into a light laugh.

“What..?”

“Jus’ thinkin’…you know who’d make all this funnier? Rocco.”

Now there was someone who was built for this kind of situation; his entire friendship with the twins had been packed with amusing anecdotes and memories, and as such, almost immediately Murphy was smiling too.

“Aye, he would…the prick’d probably turn everythin’ in a fuckin’ comedy sketch, all unintentional and that.”

“Can y’imagine? Roc’ braggin’ about how badass he is, an’ runnin’ into a walker, screamin’ and swearin’ in surprise – probably takin’ the thing’s ear off before he finally gets the shot. ‘What the fuck! What the fuckin’, fucked….fuck!’”

The impression would have been spot on had it not been for the coarseness of his voice, but the expressions he pulled had them both sniggering, and the more they saw the other laughing, the more they did themselves. This time, it made the coughing fits seem almost worth it. Recovering from his before his brother, Connor took a few deep breaths as he pushed his hands through his hair, letting his head hang for a moment.

“…Gotta admit, I miss the big idiot.”

“Aye…me as well.” After a pause to rub his eyes, Murphy looked up and to the side, trying to work out the soreness in his neck. “Alright, how about this…Rocco and Romeo meetin’, right now.”

“Oh Christ, you know I’d pay good money to watch that if it was a movie.”

Taking the cloth off of his forehead, Murphy carefully moved to prop himself up, wiping it across his face and around his throat and neck, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders as he did so.

“You reckon he’s made it this far?”

“Romeo? Aye, no doubt. You know him…tough little bastard.”

“He’d better of…I’ll be pissed if he’s gotten himself killed.”

“If any of us are makin’ it through this shit storm, it’s Romeo.”

“Don’t suppose you fancy a road trip back to Boston? Maybe if this place gets overrun, shot up or somethin’ – we find us a car, head up North.”

It was obvious Murphy was kidding – or at least, mostly. The idea was a tempting one, however unrealistic. But hey, perhaps letting themselves daydream for a while would be good. Lighten the mood, take their mind off of things.

“Aye, alright. Head up there, find Romeo, then find some place to relax for a bit…could take a while, though.”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed – time’s not exactly somethin’ we’re short on.”

“Depends how optimistic you’re bein’ I suppose.”

 

 


	45. Come healing of the body, come healing of the heart

Two more people passed away that day, which led to the people who remained becoming more miserable, and more frightened. But all they could do was wait. Each minute that turned into each hour was tense and uncertain, and brought about more resignation than the last. Hershel continued to offer his help to those in Block A, giving out a kind of tea that he claimed would help bring down fevers and alleviate the discomfort they brought. Murphy was sceptical, but didn’t turn it down as Connor helped him to sit up, the liquid – despite not being all that hot, if it was at all – burning his throat as he drank it down. By this point he didn’t know how he still had anything left of his lungs with the amount he’d been coughing, or rather, what he’d been bringing up each time he turned away. The mucus that’d been coming up had been bad enough, but when they’d begun to become more painful, accompanied by specks of dark red, Murphy had really begun to get scared. Connor wouldn’t know, like hell he’d tell him. But the frustration of realizing that he was likely going to die from this was harder to hide.

Only, when Connor had tried to talk to him about it that evening, Murphy had shouted – as best he could, at least – the outburst unexpected and hard hitting. He’d told his brother to leave him alone, to mind his own fucking business for once in his life. That he wasn’t a goddamn child and that all he wanted was for Connor to fuck off and give him some space. And even before he’d spat out the last few words, already Murphy knew he’d regret each and every one of them. But he couldn’t stop. Between choking gasps for air all of his anger and fear were turned into bullets that Connor made no move to avoid. He just sat, waiting for Murphy to catch his breath so he could start again. And only when he looked like he’d run out of things to say and names to call him and words he knew would cut deep did Connor find his way out of the cell, not saying anything.

One hand was forced to remain on the wall as he walked, concrete punctuated by the bars of people’s cells as he passed one by one. Those who caught his eye he gave a nod to, others he didn’t disturb. It was only when he looked up the stairs, only just catching a glimpse of Hershel before he went out of view. Making his own way up was effort enough, but when he noticed Hershel and Glenn trying to administer first aid that he pushed his own discomfort aside in order to move faster, making his way over to the cell and catching Glenn’s attention in the process.

“Help me hold him.”

He didn’t look much better – he was sweating profusely, same as Connor, and looked even more exhausted. But the fact he was up and helping the others told the Irishman that he should’ve been doing the same. That if Murphy wanted to be left alone, that he could easily do this and give him what he wanted for a while. The man they were seeing too was called…what was his name? Henry? As it turns out it was, confirmed when Hershel spoke to him, telling him he had to calm down, that they were only trying to help him. Connor just watched as an unfamiliar looking tube was inserted into his mouth and down his throat, and a plastic breathing bag attached to the end seconds later. Soon enough, the thrashing came to a stop, and his chest began to rise and fall at a far more normal rate. They released him, and Glenn was handed the bag to squeeze. Helping Hershel to his feet, Connor gave him a nod. As they left the cell, Hershel reached out to hold the back of his hand to his forehead.

“How’re you feelin’..?”

“Better than Henry, I’ll say that much.”

“And Murphy..?”

The look on Connor’s face and hesitation to answer told him everything he needed to know. Bringing his hand back down, Hershel held out the light he’d been carrying with him for Connor to take.

“I’m nearly finished with my rounds, if you wanted to join me”

Drawing his forearm across his forehead, Connor accepted the invitation with a weak attempt at a smile, following him as he moved onto the next cell, and then the one after that. It wasn’t until they’d begun to head back downstairs that they needed to spring into action once again. A man was lying face down out in the open, thrashing in desperation for air and visibly choking on the blood that was rapidly pooling under his mouth and nose. However, Hershel had only just pulled him onto his back to start helping him when he’d given one final gasp for life before he fell completely quiet, his limbs tensing once more before relaxing totally. And just like that, with his forefingers pressed to where his pulse should have been, Hershel’s expression confirmed that he was dead.

It’d happened so suddenly that neither of them, nor the other patients that’d come out of their cells to see what was happening knew how to really react. It was only when Sasha had stepped away from her doorway to wheel a stretcher out from the shadows that the two men came back into the moment, with Hershel turning to each of the sick, advising them to go back into their cells. But as they loaded the man’s body onto the stretcher, none of them moved, just watched as he was wheeled out and as Sasha went to follow them both through the doors. They found a room far away enough from the cells to take the body and take the correct measures to ensure he didn’t turn – something Connor hadn’t quite noticed back in the cell block, the fact they hadn’t done it then and there. Before Hershel could stop her, Sasha had pushed the knife she’d produced from her belt into the side of the man’s head in one sudden movement, only realizing both men were watching her after she’d removed the blade. No words were exchanged; she simply replaced the knife in its holder and made her way out of the room, each step taking energy she clearly didn’t have.

Only once the door had closed behind her did Hershel speak, his voice low and soft as if he was concerned about waking the body before them.

“He has a son in one of the other cell blocks…about thirteen or so.”

The statement didn’t feel like it needed affirmation, though it had saddened the old man considerably. After a moment, Connor suggested they pray, and they did, with Hershel taking the body out of another set of doors once they’d finished. He didn’t know how he felt about what had just occurred, it’d happened so fast. What it did do was push him to go back into Block A, stopping just before he reached his cell to listen. Murphy was in the midst of another fit, the sounds of the coughing now mixed with cursing and retching. When Murphy realized that someone was stood at the bars of the cell, he gave one hard, dismissive wave, managing a quick and aggressive ‘fuck off’ between wheezes. Connor didn’t know if Murphy knew if it was him or not, but evidently, he was still angry. Still in the kind of mood not much could be done to bring him out of early. So, Connor did as he was told, leaving the cell once more to head back upstairs, where Glenn was still helping Henry to breathe via the bag.

“Want me to take over..?”

“I’m fine.”

“Y’don’t look it.”

The younger man did his best to shoot Connor a warning look, but it only took a second or two of reconsideration for him to eventually nod, swapping places with the Irishman and telling him what to do. One squeeze every five seconds; seemed easy enough. And it gave him the chance to sit down and be alone with his thoughts for a while, which, once Glenn had left, was obviously something he’d wanted, but hadn’t known he’d needed. Squeezing the bag – and therefore, helping Henry to breathe – soon became an easy repetition, and his hands went into autopilot as he leant his head back and closed his eyes. He could feel his fever beginning to climb again, judging by the ache at his temples and the slow cold feeling that had begun to claw at him, sinking its teeth in bit by bit. He was coughing more and more, and although it wasn’t as bad as some of the others, he knew it was only a matter of time. At one point he started a sentence, though quickly remembered that he wasn’t in his cell and let the words trail off. He should have ignored what Murphy had said to him, told him to piss off and stayed with him, regardless of how angry he might have been. He’d put up with temper tantrums before, been the cause of them and been the brunt of them, this wasn’t any different. It was his job to look out for Murphy, and for him to be sat up here away from him at a time like this certainly felt alien to him to some degree. That’d always been drilled into their heads since they were old enough to walk – ‘look after your brother’. ‘Okay Connor, hold your brother’s hand when you cross the road’, ‘keep an eye on your brother’. ‘Be a good boy and keep your brother safe’. Keep each other safe…

They were both well into their thirties – not a fact Connor enjoyed reminding himself of – and yet those lessons rang as clear in his head as cathedral bells, even now. Their relationship must have seemed strange to those who didn’t have siblings, or to those who weren’t close with their brothers or sisters. But it was how they’d been raised. And with the absence of their father, as they’d grown up Connor had felt it necessary to fill in wherever he could – know things so that he could be the one to teach Murphy later. To be the one who went first into precarious situations, who always had one eye open for the both of them so Murphy didn’t have to. He wasn’t angry with what Murphy had said to him, he knew he hadn’t meant it. He just needed time to himself, or so he deduced. Cabin fever was a bitch at the worst of times.

It wasn’t clear to him how long he’d been sat up here, but the familiar sound of groans and panicked yells soon brought him back to the present. He couldn’t see much of anything from where he was sat, but could hear walkers – and judging by the noises coming from below, someone hadn’t been fast enough. A gunshot rang out and more screams followed, but it wasn’t until Glenn had come hurrying up the stairs and said the only two words he needed to – “Your brother…” - that Connor was swapping places with him once again and taking the stairs two at a time.

While the man who’d had his throat ripped out wasn’t Murphy, he wasn’t faring much better. Hershel was busy dealing with the walkers that had either gotten in or had come from other cells themselves, and consequently had led the rest of them away from where his brother was trying to push himself off of the floor of his cell. One walker lay dead mere inches away, its hand still clamped around his ankle. Pulling the corpse outside of the cell, Connor was at Murphy’s side in a second, taking his gun and putting it to the side as he went to help him up, though the protests he got from this meant he had to stay on the floor for the time being.

The one thing he’d only just been able to keep to himself were the spots of blood that had been appearing in his palms for the past few hours. And in the time Connor had left him alone, those specks had become larger and thicker as his breathing began to deteriorate further, spattering across his pillow as each breath had become laboured and desperate. When the walker had followed the sounds of his coughing to his cell, the effort of quickly getting out of bed and grabbing for his gun had evidently taken more out of him than he’d realized.

It hadn’t been obvious to Connor at first how bad his brother truly looked, but when Murphy had gone from wheezing shallow, rattling breaths to struggling to get any air at all, he’d run from the cell to find Hershel.

He’d come quickly, and once he’d lifted the light he carried to Murphy’s face, Connor realized how ill he had become. The only parts of his face that weren’t ashen were the dark circles under his eyes, which by now were veined with red, and wet with fear and panic and blood. Connor didn’t have long to let the realization sink in that his brother was dying – he had orders to carry out, orders that were delivered in a tone that left no room for hesitation. As he held Murphy’s arms down, pinning him with most of his own weight so as to keep him as still as he could, he just watched as Hershel opened Murphy’s mouth, and, after some careful positioning, pushed an identical tube from before into his brother’s throat. It looked uncomfortable, and sure as anything, Murphy struggled harder as he choked on the foreign body forcing its way into his windpipe. For the first few tries, Murphy continued to thrash against his brother’s weight, but then, seemingly within seconds, he began to relax, his chest finally beginning to rise and fall at a normal rate.

Only when Hershel laid a hand on his arm and gently told him he could let him go did Connor find himself able to move, almost sure that if he did, Murphy would go revert back to struggling to breathe at all. Glancing from his patient’s sweat soaked face to the hand that was clasped in a white knuckle grip to Murphy’s wrist, Hershel addressed Connor once more. He told him that he needed him to do the same thing that he’d done with Henry here now. That it’d help his brother breathe until help arrived. Hesitantly, Connor let go of his brother long enough to take Hershel’s place, the action that was once repetitive now suddenly a very conscious effort for him. Hershel offered to stay with them, but Connor told him he’d be okay, that he’d call if they needed him.

Only when they were alone did he let himself let out the breath he’d subconsciously been holding, though it came out as more of a shudder as he spoke to his sibling, whose eyes had since fallen shut and whose hands were completely limp; where the only thing telling Connor he was still alive was the fact he could still hear him trying to breathe alongside the tube and the bag.

“Come on, Murph’…don’t go this to me now. Not now…”


	46. The state of being watched

Every now and then, Murphy would show a small glimpse of life, closing his hand or turning his palm over and outstretching his fingers weakly. He would try to open his eyes, but didn’t see much but shapes and dim, blurred lights meshed with shadow. He was aware of his brother sat with him, just as he knew he was speaking to him, though in the static of his mind, none of it was decipherable. Each time he tried to swallow, he was reminded of the hard plastic tube that’d been forced down his throat each time he tried to say anything. In his exhausted state, he couldn’t place what it was – only that it was helping his worn out lungs to inflate with a slow, dull ache every few seconds. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but with how fast he’d flick in and out of consciousness, he didn’t have the energy to complain or argue. There was a nasty metallic taste on his tongue, mixing with the sour aftertaste of the last things he’d said like oil and blood. At one point, following the subdued sound of voices, a sharp scratch bit down against his right arm, and something rough and warm clasped itself to that same arm’s wrist. After that, things just went black, only this blackness was just as cold and unrelenting as the feeling he’d had filling his chest. He would have been scared if he hadn’t been so tired.

He didn’t know how long he was out for, only that when he did finally begin to come around, he was free of whatever had been in his mouth, and he was breathing on his own.

“Connor…”

In his head, his brother’s name was clear as day, but the sound that came out of his mouth on cue was barely above a dry whisper. Christ, he was thirsty…thirsty and cold and sore all over, as though every single muscle in his body had been pushed beyond repair. He tried speaking again, though this second attempt wasn’t much better.

“Connor..?”

Whatever it was that’d attached itself to his wrist wasn’t clutching as tightly as it had been before, though once his eyes had adjusted to being open again and he’d stiffly turned his head to the side, he saw it was because Connor had fallen asleep against the wall, mouth hanging open and posture as relaxed as the awkward position he was sat in would allow. As it turned out it was his hand that was resting loyally on Murphy’s arm – and shortly after that, he realized he was still on the floor, a pillow under his head but only cold ground beneath the rest of him. For some time, moving properly was draining enough, but eventually he woke himself up properly. Doing his best to push himself up, Murphy winced at the pain in his back, his body clearly unprepared for this sudden change; within seconds of him taking a few deep breaths, he was coughing with a new found vigour, each intake of breath causing the next to be worse than the last. With his head bowed, he didn’t notice Connor waking with a start, rubbing at his eyes and trying to come around faster. Shifting forward he pressed a hand to his brother’s back, smiling despite the breathless cursing falling from Murphy’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Murph’”

“Get me some water will you..?”

The demand wasn’t delivered rudely, as much as he may have meant it that way. The fact that he had to ask it between coughs meant he just sounded sick. Sick and incredibly weak and as grouchy as anything – all attributes Connor could work with as long as it meant Murphy was well enough to sit up and talk again. He did as he was asked, the drink disappearing just as fast as it’d been handed to him, with Murphy nearly choking on that instead of air. Letting Connor help him to sit up with his back against the bed, Murphy finally managed to speak somewhat properly, taking in his brother’s badly hidden smirk with narrowed eyes.

“What’re you so fuckin’ happy about..?”

“You’re kiddin’, right? The fuck d’you think?”

“Can’t be ‘cause I’m up and talkin’…” Murphy rasped, contriving a weak kind of smile of his own – one that managed to portray both sarcasm and a confession of guilt. “How long was I out for..?”

Connor shrugged, fingertips easing out a sore point in the side of his neck.

“Couldn’t say...a few hours, and that was before y’started chokin’ on the damn tube”

“…I don’t remember wakin’ up before now”

“Nah…I wouldn’t say you were awake. You were out cold, your body just went on autopilot…You remember anythin’ before that? With the walker, any of that?”

With a nod, Murphy glanced over to the patch of wall that was spattered with dark brain matter.

“Nothin’ after that.”

“Probably for the best – y’weren’t in top shape, I’ll say that much.”

When Murphy just looked at him in his expectant way, Connor added on a few extra details, though they didn’t sound like they were pleasant to recall.

“When I found you, you’d taken down the walker – I don’t know if you fell or what, but you were on the floor, coughin’ and chokin’. You couldn’t say anythin’, couldn’t get your breath back. Started turnin’ blue by the time I got Hershel back here”

“Christ…”

Standing up, Connor motioned for Murphy to take his hand so that he could help him up, though in true Murphy fashion, it was refused until he realised how dizzy he felt. Eventually he made it to the bed, instinctively moving up so Connor could sit with him.

“When can we get out of this fuckin’ place…I’m fuckin’ sick of it, this fuckin’ bed, fuckin’ cell…”

Connor couldn’t help but laugh a little, the sound not quite leaving his reply; “Quit your bitchin’, will you? Christ, you’ve only been awake five minutes”

“Fuck off – I know you agree.”

“Aye, that I do…s’good to have you back in the land of the livin’.” After a pause, he added – with every intention of still sounding playful quickly diminishing with each word. “…Don’t try any o’that nearly dyin’ shit again, you hear me? You’re a right pain when you’re awake, let alone when I’ve gotta fuckin’ breathe for you.”

“I’ll try to remember that - where’re you goin’..?”

Looking back at his brother from the few paces he’d taken across the room, Connor motioned to the bed as if it was obvious.

“Leavin’ you alone-”

“For fuck’s sake – Connor, I’m sorry, what I said before-”

He wasn’t sure what interrupted him first, the coughing or his sibling, who, to his credit, waited until the fit had calmed down before speaking again.

“It doesn’t matter, Murph’. I heard you, loud an’ clear. You need space, and you need to rest.”

“I’m fuckin’ sick of restin’” he shot back, his tone still sorely lacking any real weight.

“Aye, well – you’ve got no choice. Get some sleep. I’ll be around if you need me.”

And with that, Connor was gone from the cell, leaving Murphy to his thoughts. He really didn’t want to sleep anymore. He wanted to grab Connor back and talk to him. Even so, as if on command, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he managed to drift off. The mattress, if you could even call it that, was a luxury compared to the floor, and within minutes he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. He didn’t wake up refreshed when a few hours had passed, but as the day came to a close and the next one came around, whatever the wonder-drug was that they were giving him…it was working, or at least, doing something right. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he managed to actually eat something substantial – or at least, whatever could be called substantial nowadays. Even being able to shower without feeling faint or dizzy was noted. Cold water or not, it was better than slowly rotting in his filthy clothes for much longer. God, he felt terrible. Emotionally because of the damned cell block and this Godforsaken illness, and physically for how long it’d been since he changed his clothes or washed properly. Just rubbing his fingers across his sweat soaked skin felt vile, his hair nothing more than a greasy mop by now, though the stream of water fixed that as best it could.

The following days were spent recuperating bit by bit, and by the time the week was out, several of the patients from cell block A - both he and Connor included - were fit enough to leave. Stepping outside into open air, the sun was a harsh but badly-missed change. It took a while for their eyes to adjust fully, but just breathing in the air and feeling the breeze on their faces was enough to make them both grin in relief. Letting themselves onto the grassy outer yard, the brothers pace came down to a slow wander, both enjoying the space and the excuse to stretch their legs, though for a while, neither said anything of much consequence. Without looking away from the group of walkers crowded against the outer perimeter fence that they’d slowly stopped to watch, Murphy was the first to speak, earning him a side glance from Connor, but nothing else until he’d finished.

“…I was a prick to you, back in there. Had no reason to be, I was pissed, and frustrated…you saved my life, probably more than once. And all I could tell you was that I wanted you to fuck off and stay gone.”

“Y’said some other shit as well” Connor added quietly, neither looking at the other still.

“Aye.” Murphy replied. “And I’m sorry for it. And for scarin’ you.”

“You couldn’t scare your way out of a fuckin’ paper bag.”

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, right before I passed out? I’d say I could.”

“So, you remember that much then…” Only now did the two of them look at one another, with Murphy nodding lightly in reply.

“You’re me brother, you daft bastard. I’ve got you.”

“…Is this the bit where we hug and get all teary?”

“Christ no – what’s this look like to you? A fuckin’ ‘Brokeback’ sequel?”

“Lookin’ at you…aye, sorta.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Clapping his brother lightly on the arm with the back of his hand, Murphy held his palm out expectantly.

“Give us a fag, will you? I’m dyin’ for one”

Connor’s reply wasn’t one he needed to think over. “Fuck no.”

“The fuck? Why?”

“The fuck do you think, genius – when you’re a hundred percent, aye, I’ll give ‘em back. Until then, you’re goin’ cold turkey.”

“Come on, don’t be a dick!”

“Sorry, little brother – s’my job”

From outside the cell blocks, all that could be seen was two grown men, harmlessly walking around and talking, with one holding out a hand for something, and the other shaking his head. A moment passed, and then the two of them proceeded to start hitting and swiping at each other. There was very briefly talk of someone going down to separate them, but once he’d watched for a little longer, Hershel put any worries to rest as he joined Michonne at one of the trucks. They weren’t yelling, and the exchange hadn’t been aggressive; they were fighting, but in the way that two ten year olds do – which in turn made the entire spectacle that much funnier, especially when Murphy straight up tackled his brother to the floor and began trying his level best to push his face into the grass, though once a wayward elbow caught him off guard and clean in the jaw and Murphy was distracted long enough to be overthrown, both were laughing and swearing like it was the most natural thing in the world. Well, to them it was at least.

Both were out of breath, Murphy more so – the few coughs his body forced out of him still rough and harsh - but it was worth it. Being outside and recovering were currently the best feelings in the world to him and he intended to enjoy it. Breathing in air that wasn’t stale and heavy with sickness, being able to move without feeling nauseous or dizzy. And letting Connor off the hook at long last, letting him relax as well. Hell, he even felt a little jealous as he turned to watch one of the trucks pulling away from the prison and making its way out of the gates. Supply runs were risky, but cabin fever had meant that going anywhere that wasn’t the cells sounded like a great idea. He still craved nicotine – a fact that hadn’t been made easier when Connor had come back from a rare cigarette break smelling of it. But it’d been so long since either of them had smoked regularly, going without wasn’t so hard anymore. For once, he could be patient.

Rubbing the sore spot where Connor had hit him particularly hard, Murphy let himself lay back, hearing Connor do the same a moment later, though neither of them spoke for a while, both content to watch the clouds gather and for the breeze to chill them.

“How many people died?” Asked Murphy finally.

“Gonna have to be a wee bit more specific, Murph’.” Connor replied dryly, opening his eyes gradually and eventually turning his head to the side. “Lot’a people dyin’ nowadays”

“Why do I bother askin’ you anythin’…In the cells. How many?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

“Because I fuckin’ do.”

“About…six? Seven, maybe? I don’t know exactly.”

“An’ the one I shot – was he one of the sick, or a walker from before..?”

“Jesus fuck, you’re a jolly little shit, you know that?”

When Murphy didn’t say anything else, with a sigh Connor finally answered him, folding one hand up under his head.

“Aye, he was one of the group. Seriously, why do you want to know?”

“I was just wonderin’. I couldn’t remember seein’ him around…figured it’d be good to know.”

“That there’s a bumpy road, brother. You start wantin’ closure for every one you take out? I’ll never hear from you again. He was dead when you shot him, let it go…a’right?”

“Aye.”

“Good man. Come on…” Reaching over to whack Murphy on the chest – maybe a little too hard – Connor got to his feet and stretched, cracking his neck to the side. “Don’t know about you, but I’m fuckin’ starvin’”


	47. The day is gone

The afternoon seemed to pass by slowly but surely. They got something to eat and wandered back outside for a while, fully intending to ask if there was anything that needed doing but in no rush to find out the answer. They were content to enjoy freedom a little more for the time being. When the sun became enveloped by clouds, the two of them headed back inside and had settled back in their old cell, hunger satiated for the time being but their need for entertain gradually becoming more and more apparent. Although Murphy thought he’d be sick of the sight of the cells by now, even with its similar décor to the rest of the prison, the cell they’d shared in C block was not only slightly larger, but also had better lighting, and was generally cleaner. It was their space, and with it that sense of ownership and familiarity. Now that they were both out of A block, they did feel badly for those who still weren’t well enough to leave, but in all honesty, neither of the boys would trade places with them.

They talked a little to pass the time, though the quiet wasn’t one either disliked, both easing back into their usual routine of Connor reading whatever it was he’d found floating about, and Murphy daydreaming on the bunk below. He end up fiddling with the beads of his rosary and occasionally dozing off, being woken by Connor saying or asking him something, each time unknowingly making his brother smirk smugly as he tried not to sound like he’d just been woken up. Shifting forward, Connor leaned down over the edge of his bed, giving Murphy an upside down grin.

“Aw – is someone wantin’ a little nap?”

He just got a sneer in response, Connor took the obvious, mature option, and continued.

“Y’want me to read you a story? Tuck you in-”

“You’re such a twat”

“Aye, I know. S’why you love me”

Murphy just replied with an eye roll, and when he saw Connor wasn’t going anywhere, he suddenly lunged forward, making out that he was going to grab for him. Of course, he missed – but Connor still moved out of the way just in time. Pushing himself off and dropping to the ground, he practically sat on his brother, not giving him the chance to move up and make room.

“Jesus fuck – move your fat arse will you?”

“Nah – that’d be too easy.”

When he only got a half-hearted punch to the side, he offered a slightly apologetic smile.

“Murph’, if you’re that tired, I can fuck off”

“Nah, I’m sick of sleepin’”

“Suit yourself. What d’you wanna-”

As a sudden explosion rocked the prison, dust crumbled from above them and hit the floor in tiny dry specks, Connor’s question totally forgotten in the face of what’d just happened – what that was, neither of them could guess, and for the next few seconds they just looked up with eyes wide.

“The fuck was that..?” Asked Murphy, finally pulling his eyes from the ceiling to his brother, as he often did – as if Connor would somehow know the answer.

“One way to find out” Connor said, practically pulling Murphy up with him as they ran from the cell and out of the block, out into the late afternoon light. The first thing that caught Murphy’s attention was the guard tower that now stood as a flaming beacon, the pillars of black smoke climbing the ladders of air and acting alongside the noise the explosion caused as a neon sign for any walkers within miles of them. However, it was the group gathered on the outer perimeter that had Connor’s heart pounding – the group that surrounded the military tank, its gun pointed straight at them, as well as the rest of the armoury they appeared to have at their disposal. Joining the rest of their people at the fence, fingers pushing through the chain links and squinting eyes trying to see who it was who’d declared war. Both twins realized at the same moment.

“Fuck…”

“Aye”

“That’s-”

“I know…”

Neither of them had given him any thought, not since they’d been reunited. Not since everything had begun to look up and go vaguely well. Connor had assumed he’d been killed, while Murphy had done all but actively prayed for it. But, there was no denying it – the voice that carried across the yard couldn’t have belonged to anyone else. He was talking to Rick, telling him to come down and talk. Everyone was torn between looking to their unofficial leader, and keeping their eyes fixed on the group, as if a lack of attention on them would cause them to start open firing. At first, the exchange was a shouted one, with Rick trying to explain that it wasn’t only him that made the decisions anymore and that they’d formed a council, but then the Governor had asked a question that made everyone’s pulses still like falling dominoes.

“Is Hershel on the council..?”

Both Beth and Maggie closed up against the fence, hands going to mouths in horror as their father was pulled from one of the vehicles, and soon after, Michonne as well. A wave of nervousness was shared by everyone in the prison group, heads lifting to turn to one another, Murphy included.

Only then, after weighing his rapidly dwindling options was Rick persuaded – or rather, forced – to speak to the Governor a little more privately. To get closer to his level, and equally, further into harm’s way. Connor watched as Daryl opened the gate for him, as Carl in turn watched him go, while Murphy kept his eye on the scene unfolding before them.

“You think they’re here for the prison..?” He muttered, glancing to Connor only when he didn’t get an answer straight away, though when it came it was in Irish – to keep from freaking Beth and Maggie out more, maybe, though Murphy doubted they were paying anything else any mind whatsoever.

“What I’m thinking…or they just want us dead.”

“It’s been weeks…the fuck are they doing? Why wouldn’t they’ve come back sooner?”

“Make us lower our guard.” Connor replied sternly, giving his brother a brief, serious look. “Make us forget about them, get cosy, think we’re safe. All that kind of shit…now look at us.”

“You got your gun?”

“Aye.”

They couldn’t hear anything that was being said between Rick and the Governor – from this distance they could have been saying anything, though from the time it was all taking, it began to become clear that he was stalling for time – the skip full of weapons was wheeled out of sight of the Governor’s group, and immediately shared out between people. Grabbing one for Connor, Murphy handed it over, noting the look on his brother’s face; anxious. Worried. Territorial, even. They’d gotten so used to not fighting, or at least as much as a few weeks would allow. Their group was thinner now thanks to the epidemic they’d only just gotten out of themselves, and for that same reason, a lot of them were still recovering. Murphy was better than he had been, but every time he coughed or had to take a second to catch his breath told him that he still wasn’t 100%. They were in no position to defend the prison if this all went south, not like they had been when the Governor had come here before. They’d ambushed him, taken him by surprise.

But the group he had now were clearly ready to fight if they had to. He was aware of Daryl and Sasha talking behind him, but he wasn’t concentrating on what was being said. He wanted to know what was happening down on Rick’s end, what he was bargaining away or how stubborn he could be before the Governor had had enough. Because when dealing with a man like that, Connor knew that releasing hostages wasn’t something he’d ever do when push came to shove.

Murphy said something to him, but it wasn’t until he’d hissed his name and repeated himself that Connor drew his attention away from the other group, following his brother somewhat hesitantly when he led them both out of hearing range of the others.

“We need to start gettin’ people together, gettin’ them ready to fight-”

“Murph’, there isn’t gonna be one.”

“What’re you talkin’ about..?”

“We should be gettin’ ready to evacuate – if this hits the fan, we won’t last five fuckin’ minutes”

“We were here first-”

“You think he gives a fuck about that? If we stay, we’re gonna get slaughtered. This place ain’t worth our lives.”

“Aye, well...I say it’s worth a shot.” Murphy retorted almost coldly, like he couldn’t see why Connor was so adamant they give up before anything had happened. “You really that scared of him?”

“Oh fuck off, Murphy – don’t give me that. You know just as well as I do we don’t have the fire power here, or the numbers.”

“We need to at least try”

“Why? So we can waste ammo and get killed anyway? Use your brain – you know I’m right, you’re bein’ too fuckin’ stubborn to admit it”

“I’m not runnin’ with my tail between my legs-”

“Yes, you are – and if I have to knock you out and drag you by the fuckin’ collar, you can bet your arse I will.”

Had it not been for Beth and Maggie’s sudden, despairing screams, Murphy would have shot something back – but as it stood, they didn’t need to run back to the fence to know what’d happened. Seeing it only hammered it home. Even from where they were they could see the blood and could see the sword in the Governor’s hands – and within seconds, the shooting started. There was barely time for Connor to really react to what had just happened, not with Murphy grabbing a fistful of his shirt sleeve and dragging him down behind cover.

“Connor – hey, come on - we don’t have time, alright?”

The shotgun was heavy in his hands and he was suddenly very aware of his own breathing; a weird thing to become conscious of, but it was like he was a computer screen or an internet browser freezing suddenly, needing a few seconds to process all the information that was being thrown at it. Death was nothing new, he wasn’t getting bent out of shape over that. It was the fact it was Hershel, and that now, they were going to be forced out of the most secure home they were ever likely to have.

Looking to his brother, he gave him a nod, barely hearing him over the gunfire.

“I’m sorry – we’ve gotta do this. Come on, get up.”

And he did. It wasn’t long before the tank began to roll forward, tearing through the fences as though they were paper and blowing great holes into the cell blocks, the explosions alone bound to draw every walker straight to their doorstep. Though for once, walkers weren’t everyone’s first concern. Backing away from the last remaining fence, the prison group went about their individual jobs; getting everyone out of their cells and onto the bus, if Murphy had heard Daryl right. Getting out as many supplies as they could and getting everyone who couldn’t fight out of harm’s way.

Nevertheless, plan or no plan, it very quickly became chaos as the Governor’s group closed in. It didn’t take a genius to see that their people were terrified, fleeing the cell blocks and only barely managing to listen to instructions and follow each other towards the bus they’d first arrived here in. This was a lot of people the Governor was willing to murder in the name of keeping his own group safe – had he the time, perhaps Connor would consider it hypothetically himself. It was the age old Philosophy problem; do you sacrifice the one to save the many, be utilitarian? Or would fifty or a hundred people just become faceless targets to him if it came between their lives or his brother’s?

It was then that he realized that Murphy wasn’t with him anymore – that he was helping people out of the blocks, offering them cover as they got from A to B. He couldn’t get to him, not without making himself vulnerable, so he got himself out the line of fire and yelled to him, though his words were lost amidst the firefight. He’d get to him as soon as he got the chance, but until then, he’d have to be sure he kept him in sight. They were not getting separated again, no fucking way. He’d be damned if he let that happen.

As it turned out, when the tank had pulled to a stop, Murphy had taken that as his cue to get back to Connor. He’d shouted something to Tyreese, motioning toward the bus as he ducked behind the nearest wall, scanning the scene hastily for his brother, who thankfully hadn’t gone far. Once they had each other’s attention, Murphy motioned behind the cell block Connor was currently using as cover, to which he nodded his understanding, and began to make his way there. Not only was there a route they could take to get out, taking advantage of one of the weak spots towards the back of the prison that the group had discovered, but that’s where two or three of the cars were parked in case of emergencies which, Murphy guessed, this might have counted as. As much as he loathed the idea of running away, of letting the Governor win – hell, of letting the Governor _live ­–_ Connor had been right. They weren’t losing yet, but they certainly weren’t winning. And the longer they stayed here pointing guns at each other, the higher the risk became of their group getting picked off one by one.

However, the one thing Murphy hadn’t taken into account were the other walkers who resided in the prison – in the cell blocks that hadn’t been cleared yet, that were now being drawn out from the cracks by all the noise and gun shots. The place he’d intended to meet his brother was swarming with the things, and very quickly took note of the Irishman attempting to backtrack. If only to add to their problems, the Governor’s group were now fully immersed in the prisons inner yard, which meant that not only was the fighting now close range, but that it’d be harder for the two of them to get out in one piece. One of the men, while he hadn’t noticed Connor, was heading his way – giving him very few choices, not that he needed time to decide. With one well aimed shot, the guy fell dead, giving Connor the chance to make a run for the back of the cell block, taking out walkers as he made his way to where his brother was hopefully waiting for him. To his relief, Murphy was already inside one of the cars, yelling at him to hurry the fuck up, that he’d help to cover him.

Soon enough, the car’s engine was revving into life and they were pulling away, walkers that had been clawing at the windows getting quickly left behind as Murphy found the exit gate, stopping as close as he could so that Connor could get out to open it for them. It was a close call – far too close – but before long they were putting distance between the prison and them, the burning guard towers quickly becoming the only things that could be seen from the rear view mirror.


	48. Oats in the water

The roads, thankfully, were for the most part clear. They’d occasionally pass a walker or two, and at one point unfortunate hitchhiker who’d been torn apart and left to rot, only pulling over once. The large hiking back-pack that was still strapped to the cadaver’s shoulders caught Murphy’s eye, and given the limited amount of supplies the car had been packed with, at this point he was willing to borrow from the dead if it meant evening up their chances. If Connor had noticed what he was doing, he didn’t make it obvious until the bag had hit the back seat and Murphy had climbed back into the car, not saying a word and not needing to. He just looked back at it as it shifted with the bumps in the road, eventually resting on its side. He turned in his seat, leaning awkwardly against the window as he watched the road ahead; just a long, dull stretch of nothing but trees and uncertainty. Neither said anything for a long time, both still going over everything that’d happened back at the prison.

It’d all started and ended so fast – one minute they’re talking, the next they’re on the road with their shelter and supplies going up in smoke and bullets. The group was scattered now; who knew if any were dead or how many were injured. Neither of the men had stopped to think of bringing anyone with them, hadn’t stayed to try and give anyone else the chance to get out safely. In the minutes following the Governor’s attack, both of them had just focused on getting to each other and leaving in one piece. It would be a safe bet to say that that was mainly the reason for them both being so quiet. Upon reflection, they could have stayed longer, they should have. There were kids there – had they gotten help? Had everyone gotten out in time? It was wishful thinking to assume that was the case, and that was what clung to the twins’ minds. Though the more they thought on it, the more certain they both became that, as it stood, they’d rather only have their brother in the car with them than have everyone but them.

It was a troubling realization for them, more so for Connor than Murphy. It might have meant that they could have saved some lives had it not been for their selfishness – but of course, it was the not knowing that gnawed at the brother in the passenger seat. But for Murphy, it wasn’t so simple any more. He knew it would have been the right thing to do, to stay and bring others with them, get two or three people into the car and know they’d done at least that much, or stayed behind and tried to force the Governor out. However, in the heat of the moment, when it came to risking his life or Connor’s to either make sure others were alright or to ensure his brother’s safety, there was no hesitation for him, and there hadn’t been for Connor either. They’d gone into autopilot, and regardless of their moral standing on the matter, they’d chosen to be safe than sorry, and as their nature dictated, they’d chosen each other. The question that Connor had been asking himself before – fifty people lives or Murphy’s – had been answered for him. He just didn’t know how he felt about knowing it for certain now.

For some time now, the sound of coughing from the driver’s side had been the only sporadic accompaniment to the soft whirring of the engine, with Murphy trying to suppress the urge and Connor willing it to subside, if only for the reason that they didn’t have any medicine with them. No antibiotics, nothing. And being out on the road if he wasn’t fully recovered spelled trouble in the next few days. If he caught anything else or pushed himself too much, there was certainly no guarantee that he’d come out of it a second time. Sitting up a little, Connor finally spoke up. There was nothing demanding in his tone of voice, but there was no doubt it was an order, said quietly or not.

“Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

As the car pulled to a stop, Murphy watched as his brother got out, leaving the door open. He figured he should do the same, meeting Connor half way.

“I’m drivin’ for a while.”

“I can do it, I’m fine-”

“Murph’…”

Murphy didn’t argue the point any further, just gave a nod and went around to the passenger side, climbing in and shutting the door behind him. And that was that for the time being. They didn’t talk much after that, not for some time at least. It was obvious to him that his brother had a lot on his mind, but pressing him for answers now wouldn’t help anything. He could try taking his mind off of things, but for once he couldn’t think of anything to say that could do that well. This was a mood that Connor slipped into sometimes, when he became quiet and distracted and thoughtful, only nowadays when it occurred, it brought out the tiredness they now lived with, aging him. Murphy knew he’d come out of it soon enough, but when it came over him, he knew to leave him alone as much as possible.

Outside, the skies were starting to darken – the light of the afternoon was a soft, pale one, brightening grey clouds like a torch beam through smoke. It was still warm, though the wind was undeniable; they’d need to find shelter before dark, though neither of them knew of any houses close by. They had no map, and were running out of hours of daylight to find somewhere to stay. Reaching into the backseat, Murphy grabbed the backpack he’d picked up earlier, bringing it to the front and resting it against the glove box as he went through it. This caught Connor’s attention, and at last, he said something, glancing from the road to the bag.

“Anythin’ useful?”

“Here’s hopin’…”

There were tins, and quite a few of them – regardless of the fact that most of it was canned fruit, it was edible still. After that, nothing too remarkable. A rolled up blanket and sleeping mat, some clothes that’d definitely seen better days, a battery operated torch, a note book, and eventually, a Swiss army knife. The rest wasn’t useful or important, but it was pushed back into the bag’s depths before being thrown back behind them.

“Least we’ll have somethin’ to eat for a few days.” Murphy remarked, turning the tool over in his hands and inspecting each of the parts individually. When Connor didn’t reply or acknowledge him, he tried a second time, looking over every now and then as he spoke.

“What’s on your mind..?”

He knew the answer ten times over, but Connor still indulged him as they drove, the skies ahead growing gradually darker and darker by the mile.

“We should’ve brought some of the group with us. First sign of trouble, we just up and left…didn’t stop to think about it, just ran.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted” Murphy replied carefully, for once not wanting to instigate an argument. That was all they needed. “I’m the one who said we should have stayed, before Rick fucked up and they started attackin’, at least”

“I don’t regret leavin’ when we did. We wouldn’t have had a snowball’s chance against a fuckin’ tank, but we should’ve brought people with us.”

“It would’ve been risky, stickin’ around, roundin’ people up. People were firin’ left front and centre, we weren’t thinkin’ of them. We were thinkin’ of how _we_ were gonna get out in one piece.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Murphy shook his head. “No.”

“That makes one of us, at least...”

“…You wanna know what I think?”

“That depends on what you’re gonna say I suppose”

“I feel bad we didn’t drag anyone along for a ride in the fun-mobile. But at the end of the day, I’d rather it was you in the driver’s seat than Rick or Glenn. I’m glad I didn’t get a bullet to the leg or worse tryin’ to convince someone that their best bet is with us, and I know you’re thinkin’ the same thing. I wanted to stay and fight, so I get how this might sound just a little hypocritical – but lookin’ back, it’s better to be a livin’ selfish prick than a dead selfless prick.”

“So you don’t care if the Governor’s dead or not then? Because I’ve got distinct memories of you tellin’ me you were gonna kill him if you ever saw him again”

That brought a tangible seriousness to the conversation – one that Murphy had wanted to avoid if possible. The challenging nature of Connor’s tone wasn’t missed, but he ignored it, despite every fibre of his being urging him to argue right back.

“If he walked out of that alive, then aye, I will. If he’s dead, good. The world’s better off without him. I wasn’t gonna risk runnin’ down there to fight him.”

Their conversation trailed back into silence after that, with Murphy coughing more than before. He didn’t sound as sick as he had back at the prison, back in cell block A, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. As they subsided, Murphy rested his head back against the seat, catching his breath.

“You alright..?”

“Aye…s’more of a pain in the ass now than anythin’ else” Glancing over to Connor, his hands continued to busy themselves with the army knife, pulling out the tools only to flip them back in again a moment later. “…I am sorry, y’know. For Hershel…I know y’liked him.”

Oddly, that brought a small smile to Connor’s face – it was saddened by the reminder, if he even needed one, but it was enough.

“Don’t kid yourself…you did as well”

“Eh…he was alright” Murphy replied with a shrug and a smirk of his own, though it faded just as fast as it had appeared. “After seein’ that…You reckon Maggie and Beth got out?”

“I don’t know…look, keep an’ eye out for houses, will you? We need to find someplace before it gets dark.”

“You scared of sleepin’ in the car for a night?”

“Shut your trap, I ain’t fuckin’ scared. Looks like it’s gonna rain, and you need somewhere warm to sleep. Simple as that.”

“Your concern’s touchin’, Connor – Really.”

“Aye, it’d better be. Christ knows what you’d do without me.”

With the subject successfully changed for the time being, Murphy slouched down in his seat and pushed his feet up onto the dashboard, turning on the radio, though it was quickly shut off by his brother before the static could become any more irritating, followed shortly after by a playful backhand to the leg.

Hours had passed by the time they came across any buildings at all, and by then it was already dark, and rain had begun to fall in thick, heavy droplets. Neither of the twins could remember it really raining much at all in the time they’d been in Georgia, so this was almost a pleasant surprise. Rain was something they were both more than accustomed to given how little the weather changed back in Ireland. Rainy, cold and grey were three words that could accurately describe it. Sitting up in his seat, Murphy joined his brother in looking at the streets ahead. There weren’t as many walkers as they thought there’d be, though both knew better than to assume that they wouldn’t have a fight ahead of them. With only the small torch found in the hiker’s bag as a source of light, they’d have to be especially careful until they found somewhere to hole up for the night.

They’d passed several stores – all had been looted, but shops meant that houses couldn’t be far off. With a conscious glance down at the fuel meter, Connor addressed his brother as he looked out of his window.

“Pack as much shit as you can in that bag, will you? We shouldn’t be carryin’ loads of crap if we get caught out”

Doing as asked, Murphy sifted through the bag’s contents again, chucking everything that they wouldn’t find use of into the back seat to make room for the supplies the car had come with. They slowed to a stop and Connor killed the headlights, making Murphy look up from what he was doing. It was the first two storey house they’d seen, and to Connor at least, that made it their best option. More rooms to clear, yes – but it also meant more places to hide should they need it. And hopefully more chances of finding food. Maybe ammo if they were lucky, though that was even more doubtful. They were desperately low on that as it stood, which meant finding other weapons and preserving what they did have until they found more. With the bag on his back, Murphy checked out of his window for any walkers nearby before opening the door as quietly as he could, Connor doing the same on the other side. There weren’t any that they could see – none that posed any immediate threat, at least. The car hadn’t made a lot of sound – and through the rain, they in turn were well camouflaged, though any gunshots would no doubt bring them out from the woodwork and alleyways, drawn to the noise like piranha to fresh blood. They’d have to be careful, else there’d be a long night ahead.

Connor went up to the house first, with Murphy following close behind and peering through the ront windows while Connor tried the door. Thankfully, he found that it’d been left open, and with a little encouragement, opened completely with some help from the wind. Hissing his brother’s name, Connor waited for Murphy to catch up to him before stepping inside, closing the door just as gently as he’d opened it. For a minute, they just stood in the silence, both pretty wet already and both with their heartbeats pounding in their ears. It was times like this that brought them back to a time when going upstairs in the dark meant you had to scramble to escape the imagined ghoul behind you. Back when the dark was something to be feared, only now, the monsters under the bed were more than a bad dream.

“Hold up the light.”

Again, Murphy did as he was told, lowering his voice as he replied. “We need to find weapons, shit like that”

“Aye…come on” Connor murmured back, nodding for them to go through what he presumed was the sitting room. Shining the torch around, when they saw it was clear, both men relaxed a little more, though it was what lay to Murphy’s left that helped him feel that much better. The fireplace was stone cold as you’d expect, but the cradle for the various accessories remained untouched. Grabbing up the fire poker, Murphy gave Connor a triumphant grin, to which he just rolled his eyes in the darkness.

Motioning for them to continue, Connor gave the hallway another anxious glance, closely followed by the space ahead. Joining his side again, Murphy gave his new found weapon of choice a spin with his fingers as he handed his brother the torch, giving him another smirk when the light was shone at him.

“Show off.”


	49. Everything's temporary

The house was far bigger than it had seemed on the outside, not that either of them had really taken the time to check when they’d first made themselves at home. The kitchen was clear, as was the coat closet, and under the stairs and any other hiding places on the lower floor a walker might have slipped into. The deeper they went into the house, the more muffled the rain and wind became, but nonetheless, it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere as they carried on. They made their way up to the first floor in silence, or at least as close as they could manage with each of the stairs creaking in its own way, and with Murphy doing his best to suppress coughs as they came and went at their own, inconvenient leisure.

The first room once they reached the top was a bathroom, its door gliding open a little too effortlessly, consequently banging back against the wall behind it before Connor could grab the handle, the sound echoing off of the tiles like a cymbal crash.

“Fuckin’ careful” Murphy hissed, looking down the hallway into the darkness for any signs that they’d alerted something or someone to their presence, if they hadn’t already.

“Sorry!”

It was spacious and looked like a lot of money had gone into making it look good – something it shared with every other room in the house. Had the electricity been working still, it’d be a nice looking place. It was almost cruel, having such a luxurious looking shower and kitchen, and no real use for them anymore. Moving past his brother, Connor stepped towards the next room along the corridor – a bedroom, at a guess.

“Try not to go in all guns blazin’ this time” Murphy muttered, trying to keep an eye on the space behind them as they let themselves in.

“Shut up will you and stay focused – you’re the one with the fuckin’ weapon.” Connor shot back, shining the light at his twin in defiance. Murphy just held his hands up in mock fear before motioning crudely back at him.

“Aye – like you bangin’ doors open hasn’t attracted enou-”

It’d been stood in the corner, or so it could be assumed. The windows in here had been blocked out by either the home owners or previous refugee’s, giving the walker the extra cover of darkness, and enough time while the brother’s exchanged petty comments to cross the room and grab at the first thing it could. In this case, the first thing was a fistful of Connor’s hair and the sleeve of his shirt.

Despite everything happening only within a matter of seconds, only once he’d hit the wall after dragging himself away from the walker did things start to feel like they were happening in real time again. It’d stopped moving after the fifth or sixth blow to the head, the fire poker eventually breaking through the skull and ending its sorry life, but only once its head resembled a broken piñata did Murphy stop, and scramble to grab the torch up from the floor, dropping his weapon in process.

“Fuck – are you okay? Are y’alright? Connor-”

“I-I dunno – I don’t fuckin’ know, I don’t think so”

“Connor come on, let me help, let me see – move your hand.”

Pushing the torch between his teeth, Murphy reached out to where Connor had his hand clamped in a white-knuckle grip to his shoulder, forcefully pulling it away and taking the light back, shining it good and close to the skin. He checked Connor’s neck, his shoulder, his nape and his collar. Nothing. No blood, no scratches, no bites. The only thing out of the ordinary, though completely understandable, was how hard his pulse was pounding in his throat.

“You’re alright, you’re good…Jesus Christ, that was close. Too fuckin’ close.”

“Tell me about it…”

“You okay..?”

“Aye, just give me a second”

“I’ll give you a second when the rest of the house is clear…come on.” Murphy replied solemnly, offering his brother a hand up as he got up himself. Taking it, Connor followed suit and said nothing, reaching down to take back the fire poker as they headed out of the room.

Neither said another word until every room had been double checked, and even then, conversation was sparse until the doors had been barricaded and the windows covered up. Only then, as they made themselves comfortable in what they assumed was the master bedroom, did they actually begin to speak again, this time a little louder than whispers as the noise from the rain and the occasional roll of thunder offered more cover. Sitting on what he’d deemed his side of the bed – which, thankfully, was wider than any bed either of them had seen in a long time – Connor let his hand go to rest back on his shoulder, fingertips easing a phantom knot out of the skin.

Its grip had been hard and violent, much tighter and stronger than he’d imagined – his scalp still ached from where his hair had been almost yanked from its roots. Of course he’d had close calls, they both had. Hell, anyone would have been hard pressed not to have had by this point. But he’d never let himself get grabbed, never let one get its hands on him. Never felt breath – did they breathe? – On his neck. He supposed they must have, or at least simulated it. They made enough noise to warrant the possibility. Regardless, a shiver still skittered through him at the memory. It’d been far too close for him to even begin to make excuses, but Jesus…Jesus, in the second it’d grabbed him? In the second he’d felt hands on him and heard the strangled whine in his ear, he’d never been more scared.

It was the feeling of stumbling on a step and only just catching yourself, of rocking back on a chair and nearly falling, or stepping into the road and at the last second noticing that car and pulling yourself back. That dreadful heart-in-the-mouth, pulse flattening fear, where even when it turns out to be short lived, you feel shaken for minutes after. That was what he’d felt, times one hundred. Times a thousand. Of course, he’d been scared before; scared for his brother, usually. Worried he’d hurt himself after losing his grip on a tree branch or after he’d intervened in yet another fight. And now, it’d been fear about walkers, about the flu they’d all come down with, about how much sleep he was getting. But when that thing had yanked him back and gone for his throat..? Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that scared for his own life.

It must have been obvious, because when Murphy had gone to break the silence and looked over to his sibling, he’d reconsidered what he was going to say, instead opting for plan B.

“There’s nothin’ there…you’re fine.”

When Connor turned to look at him, Murphy gestured to where his hand was still on his shoulder, clasped to where the killing bite would have been.

“If y’want me to check again-”

“No…I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Good…then, you feel like eatin’ somethin’?”

“Later.”

“Connor, come on. Snap out of it. You had a close call. But you’re okay…you’ll go nuts if y’keep thinkin’ about it.”

For a moment, Murphy was left with his arm outstretched, holding a can of something-or-other out before it was eventually taken and Connor shifted round to face him. When he began to laugh, however, Murphy had to admit he was somewhat thrown, smirking with a frown as he caught Connor’s attention again.

“The fuck’s so funny..?”

“You, ah….you got a bag full of cans, right?”

“…Yeah? What, you’re gonna pick now to become a fussy eater?”

“Just wonderin’…you got a can opener?”

There was a pause, and then both were smiling, although Connor’s sniggering was fuelled by nervous adrenaline more than anything else. Going to his pocket, he threw Connor the Swiss army knife, caught in a one-handed grab. Impressive, given that the only light they had was the torch directed into the plastic water carton from the car.

“Aye, actually. I do. See what you can do with that…and quit laughin’, will you? Y’sound fuckin’ mental”

He got into the can eventually, peeling back the metal lid and throwing the knife back to Murphy as he raised the food up to smell.

“What’ve you got..?”

“Peaches, somethin’ like that…you?”

“Pineapple. Trade?”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.”

It quickly became apparent that getting something to eat helped Connor calm down, and although both of them finished in record time, the effect was immediate. Leaning back against the headboard, Murphy watched as Connor brought out his gun, checking how many bullets he had left, though he doubted it was for anything other than to keep his hands busy.

“Hey. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. You gonna keep askin’?”

“You’re rattled, I get it. And hey, y’know I mean this with love – but get the fuck over it. You can’t go gettin’ all weird every time you get grabbed”

A flash of lightning briefly lit up the room, and showed Murphy the exact look he was receiving from a few feet away.

“When I was with the Governor-”

“This’ll be good…”

“He had this pit, this massive hole in the ground, filled with walkers. Said it was a scare tactic, though lookin’ back, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was throwin’ people in there when they got too savvy about him. Anyway…he’d send people out to catch more, bring ‘em back, put ‘em in the pit. I went once, and that was when I had a similar thing happen.”

“You nearly got bitten..?”

Murphy nodded. “On the arm. I get it. It freaks you out, gets to you. But all it means is that we’ve gotta get our shit together, be more careful. No point in dwellin’ on it, or on what happened back at the prison. Back with Hershel.”

“Christ – we’re not talkin’ about this again”

“Yes, we are – because it’s written all over your face. You couldn’t have done shit to help him and you know it, so stop thinkin’ otherwise.”

“You haven’t got the first fuckin’ clue what I’m thinkin’”

“Aye, I do actually. I’m sorry he’s dead, Connor – but you need to compartmentalize that shit, else it’s gonna get y’killed and get me killed in the process-”

“Fuck off Murphy, I’d never-”

“Keep your voice down”

“ _I’d never_ let that happen and you fuckin’ know it” Connor practically spat back, lowering his voice almost in spite of his brother’s warning. “Don’t you dare put that on me”

“Y’nearly got your throat ripped out twenty minutes ago! You’re the careful one, the fuckin’ brains of this fucked up operation according to you, so the fact you almost became a fuckin’ Pez dispenser concerns me just a little” Murphy retorted, sarcasm practically dripping from each word. With a heavy sigh, he held up his hands briefly.

“You were distracted because of everythin’ that’s happened. And I get it. But you’ve gotta sort it… You know I’m right, Conn’.”

“Aye, I hear you loud and fuckin’ clear.”

“Good.”

With a frustrated exhale and a roll of the eyes, the conversation was guillotined on an angry, comfortable note – one that neither wanted but both knew they needed. Instead of continuing, both then proceeded to ignore the other for the time being, with Murphy getting up to leave the room and Connor pulling off his boots. Without a word, the fire poker was taken from his side and from the room, with the light-haired twin only looking up as Murphy’s figure left the room completely. Taking the time alone, Connor scrubbed his nails through his hair as he pushed up from the bed, opening the closet and sifting through the clothing hanging inside. Rack upon rack of shirts and jeans and jackets, all horrifically expensive by the looks of them, and all their size, more or less. There were shoes as well, though not as many as the clothes. Strangely, the fact that they were likely the first people to take shelter here, and the fact that nothing had been stolen yet, it almost gave the impression that they were intruding, that the occupants would come back any second and demand to know why two Irishmen were camping in their bedroom.

He wasn’t done by the time Murphy returned, though his new venture earned him a raised brow.

“Lookin’ for a new winter wardrobe..?”

“Somethin’ like that…figure we might as well take some. I know I didn’t grab anythin’ else to wear before we left.”

“I guess.”

Pulling a shirt down from its hanger, Connor balled it in his fists and chucked it across the room, where it hit its target with a successful, soft ‘thud’.

“Come on - Stop sulkin’, will you..? We’re both tired, both moody as shit. If we have to apologize every time we snap at each other, we’re gonna be spendin’ half our wakin’ hours sayin’ sorry.”

He just got the finger in reply, but that was all they both needed to clear the air and bring things back to normal.

The fact that they were in a real bed meant that they slept heavily and deeply, both falling into unconsciousness within minutes and neither waking for anything until late the next morning. By the time Connor woke up, bright sunlight was already filling the room, and for the first time since arriving in the house, he got to see details of where they’d decided to settle for the night. The colour of the walls (light blue), and the matching duvet cover and pillows that’d been messed up by the two of them. Pulling on his boots, he got up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him as he went through the house for a third time. In the light of day, he began to notice things that the dark had hidden from them; how high the ceilings were, how tidy the place was. How many photo’s hung on the wall ascending the staircase, and how large the family had been. Or he hoped, still was. He also very quickly realized that the room he’d been attacked in had once belonged to a teenager, though the corpse on the floor was not that of a young person. At some point, it’d been a woman in her…forties maybe? Fifties? Either way, although he didn’t recognise her from any of the family pictures, he still muttered a quick prayer for her as he left the room again, heading downstairs to explore further. They hadn’t checked for supplies, not thoroughly – though the kitchen wasn’t much help in that respect.

Whoever had lived here, they’d emptied the cupboards completely. Whatever had been in the fridge was moulded beyond recognition. The only thing he found of use was a small first aid kit and a large chef’s knife. Professional looking, and once again, expensive. He couldn’t have felt much more clichéd if he’d tried, but given how low on ammo they were, Connor knew he’d take a knife over nothing at all when push came to shove.

Murphy hadn’t been far behind on the waking up front. They ate quickly, and packed some clothes into a sports bag that’d been stored on the top shelf of the closet. Part of them didn’t want to leave, but they both knew it wasn’t safe to stay for long. A house wasn’t a prison, not by a long shot, and as they both loaded themselves back into the car, they found themselves missing the time before everything had kicked off when they didn’t need to constantly be on the move. Hell, at this point, Murphy would have taken A block over the uncertainty of not knowing where they’d be staying tomorrow.


	50. Cherry Tree Lane

“’What do you think it feels like, to be trapped in your own body, with no control over what it’s doing? I mean, unless real scientific research and testing is being done, we have no way of knowing for certain that these things are nearly dead. Dying, yes – decomposition is pretty undeniable…’ – Is this guy for fuckin’ serious?”

“Who?”

“The guy, the hitchhiker we passed. The one I nicked the bag from – he’s got a journal or some shit.”

“’Had’ a journal…why’re you readin’ it anyway?”

“I was curious. Seriously though, there can’t actually be people who think that the walkers, zombies, whatever…think that they’re actually alive still? Just sick? S’pretty fuckin’ obvious they’re anythin’ but.”

Rolling his eyes, Connor left his brother to it for the time being. Murphy was slouched right down in his seat, with his feet up on the dashboard and the toes of his boots pressed to the windshield. The remnants of the flu that they’d both caught had yet to leave him, with fits of rattling coughs still coming over him every now and then. But there was no sign of a returning fever and he didn’t feel weak…he didn’t say anything out loud, but Connor was becoming more and more optimistic. As long as they were careful, Murphy would be out of the woods soon enough.

Thankfully, if not surprisingly, the road had been pretty much clear in the few hours they’d been driving. Of course, they’d pass groups of walkers now and then, some tried to follow after the car, though they very quickly became spots in the rear view mirror.

“Hypothetically…would you rather be dead and reanimated, or just driven mad by the virus or whatever it is with no control of your body?”

“And now, we welcome Murphy MacManus – the cheeriest fucker in the 21st century.”

“Nah, come on – s’just a question.”

“…Dead. Dead and reanimated.”

“Yeah?”

“No doubt. Can you imagine, not bein’ in control of what you’re doin’..? Fuck that.”

“Aye, I suppose. Me too.”

When Murphy’s answer was closely followed by more coughing, Connor gave him a look; a sort of side glance that didn’t give away the full amount of concern he could feel bubbling up.

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Fine, fine – don’t start worryin’ about that again, you’re like a damn scratched record.”

“Alright, no need t’get your panties in a bunch, princess - Just checkin’”

With a smirk as he pulled his sleeve away from his mouth, Murphy pushed himself up so that he could reach behind them both to the back seat, retrieving a bottle of water from one of the bags, first offering it to Connor before taking a long pull from it himself. Neither of them knew where they were headed now, and in some way, it was liberating. Of course, Connor was probably planning something already in his head, but for the time being they were flying in the dark. In fact that was almost a literal statement; the weather hadn’t cleared up much since they’d left the house. It’d been bright first thing when they’d woken up, but clouds had followed them like silent winged giants, gathering behind the car and darkening the sky ahead as they grew in size and strength. It hadn’t been long before heavy droplets of rain had begun to fall again, taking Connor out of his own head long enough to look out of the windshield, and curse softly under his breath.

“That’s all we need…”

“S’alright – just a little rain. I think we’ll live…okay, hey, listen to this-”

“Come on, Murph’ – don’t read that.”

Murphy didn’t need to ask why when he caught his brother’s eye. And he was right to give him such a look, he knew that. With a shrug he snapped the journal closed, but it didn’t leave his possession for a little while yet.

Other than the one or two stops they had to make as nature called, the day was taken up entirely by driving, with the boys switching every few hours, allowing the other to get some rest. Connor had needed it; only ten minutes or so had passed since Murphy took over before he’d fallen asleep, his breathing loud and crackling. Had he not sounded the exact same way, if not worse, Murphy may well have teased him about it once he’d woken up – which, sometime later, happened suddenly, as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod.

“It’s a miracle! Sleepin’ Beauty’s a-fuckin’-wake!”

“Fuckin’ blow me…where are we?”

“On the road. America. Ain’t got the first clue – looks like the weather’s perkin’ up though, just for you”

The clap of thunder couldn’t have had better timing. Combined with the look on Connor’s face, Murphy couldn’t keep himself from grinning to himself. Connor just ignored him as he gingerly pressed the heel of his hand to a particularly stiff part of his neck, subconsciously still assuring himself that the skin there was intact. As he straightened up, his back and shoulders popped and cracked, drawing a wince and a raised brow from the driver’s seat.

“How’re y’feelin’?”

“Old.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but it ain’t gettin’ much better”

“I’m startin’ to notice…we should find somewhere to shack up.”

“Been lookin’ – the rest of the town was crawlin’ with infected. Seen one or two other places, but they were close by. Didn’t wanna risk it.”

“A’right…” Pushing his fingertips over his eyes, Connor twisted in his place, reaching for one of the open bags on the back seat, his hand finally finding a bottle of water as his eyes found the digital clock above the CD slot.

“Christ – I’ve been out that long? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Murphy just shrugged. “You needed it. Soon as y’sat down you were out like-” a snap of the fingers finished his sentence for him. He wasn’t wrong; Connor had felt like crap most of the day - after a few extra hours of sleep, he had to admit it was the best he’d felt since they’d left A block. Draining half the bottle’s contents, he handed the rest to Murphy, who took it without a word. For a while the car was peaceful, and the road ahead clear, save for the occasional walker. After another half hour passed, they pulled over, this time at a small gas station.

The place had the feel of a bad horror film set – the kind of place that probably looked run down as soon as it was built. Put against cement grey skies with strong winds and rolls of thunder as its soundtrack, it was as if it had been put here for this very scenario; when the world itself had become a cliché thriller and needed prime locations to really nail the point home. While it was a good bet that they wouldn’t have been able to get gas from the pumps,   the few cars dotted around were a good start - and the shop itself had the potential for more supplies, if it hadn’t been ransacked already. As Murphy pulled up close to the door and they both climbed out of the car, the relief from stretching their legs was apparent on both of their faces, as though they’d been asleep for days rather than hours. The air outside the car was heavy and humid, not helped by the rain pelting the roof of the station cover without any hint of ceasing.

As Murphy rummaged through the bags, Connor tapped him, and gestured to the other vehicles, long since abandoned.

“Fancy an upgrade?”

“I think we’re good.” Murphy replied, handing his brother his knife and a torch. Both already had their guns on them, but with how little ammo they had between them, melee weapons had recently gone up in value. “Might be good to get any gas from ‘em, if there’s none inside.”

“Bit of a stretch, but - one way to find out.”

With another look around as they approached the door, Connor opened up and stepped inside, scanning the place first before heading further in, both men listening out for any sounds besides the constant drum beat against the roof. The place itself was small, not helped by the mess left by looters. Stepping over a fallen display, Connor made his way towards the rest rooms, flicking the light around as he went. He didn’t stick around long. The men’s room housed a small pile of haphazardly dumped corpses, accompanied only by flies and a penetrating stench of decay. Backing out, he brought the crook of his arm up to quieten a cough as he carried on. The ladies was barricaded shut form the inside. There was some shuffling sounds, but by the looks of things, whoever had shut themselves in hadn’t wanted to be discovered. Once he was sure the rest of the area was clear, he picked up anything that caught his eye on the way back, a pack of jerky being ripped open before he could blink.

 A hissing groan of surprise, followed by a dull ‘thwack’ from across the room had him loudly whispering his brother’s name, who appeared from the back room a moment later. His question was answered with a wave of the hand, and with that, the scavenging continued. There wasn’t much, but what they did find was better than nothing. More water, some other bottled drinks. Some dried snacks, some painkillers, and, in a stroke of good luck, a travel sized tube of toothpaste, half-kicked under one of the displays. It wouldn’t last, but if you’ve gone weeks without brushing your teeth, a find like this was a Godsend. Only managing to find one can of gas – once again, luck neither of them had been anticipating – Murphy pushed himself up onto the counter top, giving the place another look from his new vantage point. By the looks of things, the place had been looted mostly for its alcohol and the gas from the pumps, maybe when things had first gone to hell. They were pretty out-of-the-way out here, which in their case, hopefully meant any other houses or stores nearby were in similar shape.

Once they’d both had something to eat and given the place one last go over, they were stepping back outside, with Connor catching the keys in a one handed grab. While Murphy fed the siphoning tube into the fuel tank and worked on filling it, on the other side of the car, Connor kept an eye on the road, passing the keys between his hands. They hadn’t seen another survivor yet, nor another car – but in case one happened by, he wanted to know. It was crazy, how quickly people could go from being indifferent to one another to suddenly distrusting everyone they met at a first glance. It was pure desperation, and it did ugly things to people.

Soon enough, they were on the road again, with Murphy taking his turn in the passenger seat and with his feet on the dashboard as per usual. The break had done more good than they’d first anticipated; both were more awake, more conversational. And they both agreed as they passed a group of walkers, huddled over the carcass of some unfortunate animal, that the next secure house they found, that’s where they’d stay until they’d both recovered some more. Driving long distances was generally tedious enough; they didn’t need it when they still felt so run down physically - Travelling in bad weather was the last thing they needed.

The rain didn’t let up as Connor had hoped; in fact it only got worse. As time passed, the weather showed no sign of clearing up, and with a glance at his brother – mouth hanging open as his head lolled against the head rest, breathing heavy and slow – he made the decision to pull up at the next house they found. They needed shelter, given how the car would lend very little protection from any wayward walkers, or any survivors who liked their chances.   
  
Within another hour, he found himself slowing down, and pulling over outside another house. This one, while not as large as their previous residence, was more secluded – a good few miles from the last place he’d seen.  And unlike the last, this looked as though it’d already been run through by survivors, the windows boarded up heavily but the screen door occasionally blowing open in the wind. They’d be out early if it was really that bad, but with another lightning strike ripping through the air, Connor couldn’t see how it’d be any worse than the car. Killing the engine, he gave the place another once over as his hand reached over to shake Murphy awake.

“Hey honey, we’re home”

The sleep-soaked sneer Murphy gave him quickly gave way to a wide yawn as he looked out at the new place. The open door was a concern, which Murphy made clear when he turned back to his brother.

“We’ll leave the shit out here for now. Go inside, check it out. If it’s good, we bring everything in and secure the place.”

Flicking his eyes from Connor back to the house, eventually Murphy exhaled, and gave a nod, opening the door and stepping out into the rain.

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

 As it turned out, this house was bigger than they’d first realized, although Murphy’s worry about why the door was open turned out to be misplaced. It was completely deserted. Completely void of walkers and survivors alike. Or at least it was now – a thick trail of blood turned the hallway into a red carpet walkway, leading it’s nominees from the kitchen up the stairs and into the darkness. It wasn’t fresh judging by the shade of brown it was, but it was enough to knock the good humour right out of them. Murphy looked to Connor. Connor just looked ahead, following the light from his torch with his eyes, until the beam lost its influence on the top step and he was forced to lower it, motioning for his brother to follow. As they moved into the living room, both were deathly silent, both watching their step as though any sound would alert someone to their presence. Unlike the hallway, this room was lacking any blood across the furniture or walls or floor – the only evidence of it came from the bloody hand smears and fingerprints pasted to the window boards. It was a nice room. A clean, well-kept room. And yet the smell that lingered with them was a soft, metallic one that made dread build up in the pits of their chests like water slowly filling the lungs. The closer Connor examined items in the room and took the scene in, the colder his blood seemed to feel under his skin.

The kitchen was much the same. In here there was nothing wrong, nothing askew. Nothing looked as though it was missing, and it was so unbelievably clean, they had to glance at one another to make sure they were both seeing the same scene. Everything was immaculate; the counters were spotless, the floor much the same. Even the air was ripe with bleach and cleaning solution. Stepping further inside, Murphy tentatively opened the cupboards one by one, brows raising when he saw how much food there.

“Fuck…jack pot.”

“Good find. Come on…we need to do the upstairs and get the rest of our shit in.” Connor whispered back, patting his brother’s shoulder as a cue not to linger. The place was warm, it was well stocked, and judging by the nailed down hard-boards at the windows and double locks on the doors, and it was more than secure. And it made him feel so uneasy, so nervous, that he was strongly considering making them both turn around and get back into their car – a notion only made stronger as they headed upstairs, following the trail of scarlet. The metallic smell was worse up here, strong enough to make Murphy start coughing from disgust. He muffled the sound as best he could, but all that followed was the dull repetition of rain against window panes and the shallow breathing of his sibling a few feet away. The first room turned out to be a coat closet, the second a bedroom, this time belonging to an adult. It was perfect. The bed was made, the family photo on the side table propped up, with the curtains open to a view of the storm. A perfect storm, for the almost-perfect house.

With a hand pressed to his elbow, apparently startling his twin’s heart back into beating, Murphy urged him to carry on through the upper landing, though the bathroom was enough to make anyone want to turn and run.

It resembled a slaughterhouse. A small, neatly kept slaughterhouse, with pristine blue towels arranged perfectly next to each other on a rail, a surreal difference to their surroundings. The same smell of bleach from before was now challenged only by the stench of iron, filling the nostrils and hooking itself deeply into the back of the throat. Except, the blood here didn’t end the trail in a tidy line, but instead climbed the walls in spatters and splashes, dried drippings revamped by cherry red lines. When Murphy tried to look past his brother to see what made him practically rip the shower curtain closed again, Connor just pushed him back out of the room, shutting the door behind them both. The look on his face told him not to ask. After he’d taken a breath, he looked down the hallway to the remaining room; a pink door, with daisy’s adorning the wood around the handle.

It was obvious it had once belonged to a little girl. The room itself was as innocent as the child who’d once lived in it. It was as tidy and clean as the rest of the house – everything the torch light touched seemed to shine.

“This place is givin’ me the fuckin’ creeps, Connor…” Murphy whispered, looking around the room once more.

“We need to leave.”

“I know how y’feel there – that’s a shame, though. I reckon you’d…” His sentence trailed as he brought his light up. The look on Connor’s face was indescribable, but even in torch light, his face was completely ashen grey. Any attempt at joking around was wiped completely from Murphy’s tone.

“What..? You that freaked about the bathroom-”

“The fuck do you think? You fuckin’ saw it in there”

“Aye, I did – but that’s not what’s got you practically shittin’ yourself”

“What’s wrong with this place, Murph’? Other than the fuckin’ ‘Dexter’ fest back there.” Flicking his torch over the furniture in the room and over some nearby shelves, he didn’t give his brother the chance to answer him as he reached over to grasp his arm.

“Kitchen full of food, everythin’s spotless, and I can tell right fuckin’ now that that blood’s not weeks old. This house isn’t fuckin’ _abandoned,_ Murphy – someone’s still livin’ here. We need to get the fuck out and drive until-”

Both of them found themselves holding their breath when the sound registered. As the wind calmed for a minute or so outside, suddenly the rain became second priority to the sound of soft hissing seeping between the glittering pink canopy curtains of the bed across the room.

“The fuck…”

“I’ll get it.”

Their voices were barely audible now, and Murphy’s footsteps even less so as he neared the bed. His steps were cautious and slow and unsure, as a blind man would walk when moving without his cane. Pressing the fire poker to the opening of the curtain, he carefully lifted it aside and shone the light inside.

The clatter of the torch hitting the bedframe as he clumsily backed away acted as the jump-scare Connor had been expecting since they started up the stairs, though now it was Murphy’s turn to look as though he’d seen a ghost.

“The fuck is wrong with you..? Kill it” Connor whispered, louder this time.

“Take a fuckin’ look, you’ll see what the fuck’s wrong with me” Murphy replied breathlessly, snatching his torch away from the bed and stumbling further away. He had to hit it until it stopped flickering, but once it did he kept the stream on his brother as Connor clasped the gossamer material, though he did hesitate before he pulled it open.

The bed itself was beautifully made, with fresh sheets, a clean quilt, and quite the collection of stuffed animals and dolls, lined up dutifully against the wall, punctuated at the end of the line by the reanimated, detached head of the girl who once called this her home. Glazed, blood shot eyes fixed on the second Irishman with a haunting vacancy and desperation, her little mouth gasping and grinding at nothing. Blonde hair was tied back into two ropes of braids, draped down over the pillow, falling just an inch or so longer than the neck that’d once had a body to cling to.

 

Unlike Murphy, Connor didn’t have the luxury of reacting, because no sooner had he taken in the picture before him, did a door downstairs slam shut, and the jangle of keys followed another roll of thunder.

 


	51. In the name of the father

In that first minute, neither of the men dared to breathe. Someone had come home – one person, by the sound of it, by the one set of footsteps and the quiet that followed. They didn’t address anyone else, and didn’t reply to anyone else’s comments. Connor could feel the sweat already welling at the surface of his skin, and a glance to Murphy told him the feeling wasn’t exclusive. Whoever had come home was busy downstairs, whistling to themselves a tune without much of a recognisable melody or substance as cupboards opened and closed. Lightning illuminated the room for a split second as Connor dared to take a step forward, suddenly very conscious of the risk of creaking floorboards beneath them.

“We need to hide, and we need to stay fuckin’ quiet…” He said slowly, voice only just audible to the twin less than a foot away, who all but hissed his reply. Only now, Connor knew that his sarcasm was out of anxiety than being argumentative.

“Yeah, no shit”

“Shut up and follow me. As soon as we leave this room, we don’t say a fuckin’ thing unless we have to-”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’, man? I’m not goin’ out there, not with motherfuckin’ Leatherface chillin’ out downstairs-”

Pressing a hand to the back of his brother’s neck, Connor looked him in the eye.

“Murphy, I get it. I fuckin’ get it, and I’ll figure somethin’ out and we’ll be outta here before we know it, but until then, you’ve gotta trust me.”

“…I do” Murphy replied steadily, though from what Connor could see of his expression, that was something of an accomplishment. His brows were knitted together and his eyes set into a sudden realization. “…But there’s no point in hidin’”

When Connor just narrowed his eyes in reply, Murphy palmed a hand across his face, and looked towards the door for a second. “He knows someone’s here, Connor. You parked right outside the fuckin’ house.”

Connor immediately gritted his teeth, cursing to himself as the wind picked up outside, pulling his hand away and pushing them both to the back of his head. Murphy just watched him. There hadn’t been any hint of blame in his tone, only the idea that the person downstairs was enjoying making their presence known. Toying with them, knowing that with one shake of his keys, he could turn intruders into mice in a rigged maze.

“There’s two of us, one of him – we can make a run for it, and if he doesn’t like it, make the downstairs match the upstairs”

“If we both had guns, aye, that’d be a grand fuckin’ plan. We don’t know what he’s got on him”

With another slam of a cupboard door from the kitchen, Connor cursed again, though it came out as more of a suppressed noise of frustration as he turned to look around the room, like the answer to their new found situation would be plastered to one of the walls. Just then, Murphy got an idea. Tapping his brother’s shoulder, he moved towards the bed, Connor following without delay.

“What’re you doin’?”

“He ain’t keepin’ her here because she matches the décor. He’s off his rocker, probably thinks she’s still alive or whatever. We grab her, go down there, and tell him we’ll kill her-”

“I’m with you, but that’s one hell of a risk – we don’t know what we’re dealin’ with”

“I’ll tell y’what we’re dealin’ with, a fuckin’ psycho who keeps walker heads lyin’ around an’ probably dresses up like his fuckin’ mother in his spare time. You remember the last person who did that?”

“Norman Bates?” Connor replied semi-sarcastically, returning Murphy’s look of impatience with a more serious answer. “We don’t know if us even bein’ in here’s gonna make him go off on one. He sees us with that..?”

“I don’t see any other option.” He shot back with a shrug.  “Just, trust me - and keep your fuckin’ voice down while you’re at it”

Connor would have argued had he had any valid points to bring up, but the fact was, Murphy was right. Anyone who was this house proud but who kept a dead child’s head tucked up like it was a school night clearly had a few screws loose. Maybe that could work in their favour.

Murphy went to reach for the head once more, and when Connor stopped him again, he almost pulled his arm back when he noticed the other’s grip.

“What?-”

Connor just raised the hand holding his gun, telling him to say nothing. When he then gestured to his own ear, a frown practically carved into his face, did Murphy realize why he’d been stopped.

Other than the sounds of nature berating the window panes and the blood pumping in their earshad both of their hearts racing and their blood pumping in their ears, they couldn’t hear anything.

The whistling had stopped.

Thanks to their arguing, no matter how quiet, neither had heard whether or not the homeowner had come up the stairs, though that question was answered in a heart stopping creak as the bedroom door slowly opened. Before it was even halfway there, Connor’s torch was off and shoved into his jacket pocket, with his gun drawn and pointed forward.

They couldn’t make out any features at first, but thanks to the torchlight shone directly at them, for a few seconds, the ball was in the third party’s favour. But then as fast as it’d been brought up, the light was gone, instead placed vertically on top of the nearby chest of drawers, the light now giving all in the room the ability to see who was who, and what was what. Only when the aging man had lifted his eyes from the torch did they properly settle on the two strangers posted at the child’s bed. He was pushing late sixties, easily – and while he wasn’t all that tall or well built, the brothers still regarded him like one would an unstable bull.

For a long, tense moment, they just looked at one another. The man didn’t seem at all surprised to see them both, which wasn’t exactly news to them – but he didn’t seem bothered by them either. He just stood there, with his flannel shirt fully buttoned to the collar and tucked neatly into his blue jeans, with the gait and stature of a man who was confident that he was in control, but with a more of a humble air to him than one of arrogance. To anyone else, he was just an old man. A Grandfather, maybe – with a head of thick, grey hair and eyebrows to match, though in the poor lighting his eyes became hollow black spaces either side of a large, protruding nose. He looked like anyone else, and perhaps it was that that made Connor feel so horrifically uneasy.

When he did eventually take a step forward, the boys moved as well. With the gun in Connor’s left hand and aimed evenly at its new found target, his right was clamped to his brother’s arm, guiding him in the same direction as the man made his way towards the bed, not that Murphy needed incentive to follow him. The closer he got, the closer the twins were to the door, all quietly circling the room to their respective destinations. And while this wasn’t going as they’d both imagined, neither were complaining. If they got out of the house alive, they’d count their blessings. If they got out without having to kill anyone, that’d be a plus. Murphy leaned close to Connor to say something, but without taking his eyes off the man, Connor cut him off before he could even start, muttering to him in Irish so as to keep any attention he could off of them both.

“Don’t say anything, just keep moving”

“I hope you boys didn’t wake her.”

Both sets of eyes hit the man’s back as he parted the canopy curtains. The voice that came out of him was a deep, hollow one, not what they’d been expecting, and after whispering to one another for so long, the sudden change in volume caught them both a little by surprise. Neither of the twins said anything.

“It’s very rude, you know. To come in to a man’s house, touch his things. We weren’t expecting company, you see.”

With a glimpse at his brother, Murphy finally spoke.

“’We’? You and the kid..?”

In answer to the question, the man simply turned to face them fully, pushing his hands into his pockets as his eyes narrowed, his lips unfolding into a crooked half smile. Murphy went to say something else, but of the cold mouth of a gun being pressed into the back of Connor’s head and the sharp inhale that followed made them both understand. Behind his brother stood another man, younger than them all, twenty or so. Not that his age mattered. Right now all that did was the fact that they’d lost their upper hand. He’d been so quiet, there was no way he’d come in with his father – or at least, that was their best guess as to their relation to one another. As a flash of lightning filled the room, the older man’s smile faded.

“Drop your weapons, both of you.”

Connor was the first to do as he was told, and could only watch as the man finally approached them and picked up his gun, and soon after, Murphy’s fire poker as well. Throwing it to the side, he casually checked Connor’s gun to see how ammo it had, before pointing it at Murphy, and with a flick of the wrist, told him to move away from the door and to cross the room.

“You’re going to do as I tell you. Understood?”

Coming to a stop once he was several feet away, Murphy shot a look to his brother, who could only return it with the smallest of nods. One that said ‘It’s alright. Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll get out of this’. When pushed for his answer, he glanced back to the man, and offered a nod of his own, one that said something very different, not that he cared. Keeping his eyes on Murphy for the time being, he addressed the youngest of the group, who in the interim had fixed his free hand to the collar of Connor’s jacket and gripped tightly, pulling him back half a step and moving the gun from his head to between his shoulder blades. The Irishman just shot him a glance, his hands coming up a little more to reiterate the fact that neither of them were going anywhere.

“Say, Mark? Why don’t you take our friend over there to one of the other rooms? We don’t want to disturb your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Try the bathroom. Should be room for one more.”

That got a definite reaction from both of the brothers, with Murphy only getting a few steps forward before the gun that was trained on him was brought up with renewed purpose, with its holder moving between the boys and pressing it hard into his chest until he was forced to step back.

“Y’ain’t gotta do this. We’ll leave, like we were never here. We didn’t take any of y’shit”

The man’s eyes narrowed while the Irishman spoke, looking at him like he’d told him the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh, I know.”

“Murph’ – don’t say anythin’.”

With another wave of his hand, the father told the son to take Connor out. By the way the brother in front of him tensed and tried to step to the side to catch his brother’s eye, this was going to be a very interesting, very long evening. Reaching out, despite protest, the father then gripped a hand not to Murphy’s collar, but to the back of his neck, holding the gun to his temple as he took his turn to steer him out of the room, pausing only to tell Murphy to pick up the torch. Instead of taking him down the hall, Murphy was directed towards the stairs, and despite the fact he couldn’t easily move his head, he’d be damned if he didn’t try when he heard the bathroom door lock.

“You know, your friend there – he has the right idea. You keeping quiet and doing what you’re meant to really is the best thing here.”

“We’re fuckin’ sorry we barged into your house-”

“You have some real trouble listening, son.”

“Let us leave” Murphy pressed, unable to keep the bite from his tone as his foot found the last step, though the grip on his neck told him to shut up. Walking the red carpet once again, Murphy was only stopped once they reached the kitchen. It was only when he was forced into a chair that he spoke again.

“I’m tellin’ you right now, the only way we’re all leavin’ this alive is if you let us go.”

 “You’re not telling me anything, son. Now stay there, and keep your mouth shut.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut once y’hear this, you old psycho.” Murphy spat back, looking the father straight in the eye, or at least, as close as he could get in the half-light. He only stared back, blacked out features unnerving to even the steeliest nerve. “ _Anythin’_ happens t’him? I’ll cut out your fuckin’ heart, leave you to the fuckin’ walkers.”

He’d only turned his face away for a moment when he heard something from upstairs when the torch was ripped out of his hands and brought down against the side of his head.

Toppling to the floor, combined with his head hitting the table edge on his way down, there was a good minute or so that Murphy lost completely, coming round shortly after to find that, not only could he no longer lift his arms, but he couldn’t move his feet either, nor open his mouth. It felt like plastic ties binding him to the chair – more likely to break skin before snapping themselves – and tape across his mouth. But when the father carefully placed Connor’s gun down on the table top, and pointedly placed the torch next to it, the light forcing Murphy to face away as best he could.

While he tugged and struggled against his restraints, the father had pulled another chair across, before reaching over and pushing the lapels of Murphy’s jacket aside. One by one, the buttons were undone until his shirt was hanging completely open. For a few moments, the older man just looked at him, like an army general looking at a war map preparing his next move into enemy territory. Careful. Thoughtful. Strategic. When he went to touch the tattoo on the left of his chest, Murphy cringed back as far as he could, causing the old man to smile a strange, cruel smile.

“… ‘Noah’…is that who we’ve got upstairs?”

Murphy just glared back. After a moment, the father sighed, and got back up, pushing his chair back into his place. Letting his eyes close for just a second, Murphy willed himself to stay calm, though with how fast his heart was thudding under his ribs and how hard he was finding it to breathe properly, that was very easily rendered impossible.

The fuck had they gotten themselves into?

His eyes shot wide open when his head was forcibly pulled back by a fistful of hair, and for the first time since having his mouth taped shut, he made noise – unintelligible and muffled, but very evidently fear-fuelled.

“Have you ever cut the heart of out a person who’s still alive, son? Because you should know, it’s actually much harder than all those horror films would have you believe….”

The last thing he saw before pain ran down his exposed skin in hot rivers was the glint of the blade.

And only a short while after that did a gunshot ring out from the bathroom upstairs.

 

 


	52. And of the son

With another firm tug at the collar, Connor was pulled out of the room, the gun still pushed uncomfortably hard into his back. While he hadn’t been able to catch his eye before he’d been taken away, he knew Murphy knew that he’d get them both out of this. Like always. He’d make sure of it – but first he needed to stay calm. Easier said than done, but he still just about managed it, even as he was ordered to open the door to the bathroom and go inside. He already knew what was waiting for them both, though as the door locked behind them, he could hear Murphy being taken downstairs. If ever there was a time he hoped his brother would keep his mouth shut, now was it, though it was doubtful; maybe he’d manage to keep his opinions to himself until Connor figured something out.

Forced down onto his knees, the Irishman did as he was told, folding his hands up behind his head, eyes following the torch beam, trying to ignore the bodies stacked only a couple of feet away. There were easily seven or eight, all neatly piled one on top of the other, leaning against the wall for support once it’d grown taller than the bath tub. One or two were missing arms or legs, while others were missing all four limbs. One unfortunate soul had been left to drain with no head. It was sickening up close, so much so that Connor was grateful for the sudden ‘clack’ of the torch coming to rest on the sink nearby, where the son taken as his spot. With the light now on him, Connor could finally see who it was who’d taken the ball out of their park.

He was tall and very thin, with white skin like tracing paper and dark rings under his eyes. He was dressed very similarly to his father, in a shirt and jeans, though his colour palette was much more sombre. Catching each other’s eye, Connor’s shifted to the blood spattered wall ahead, carefully picking out the sounds from the storm to try and hear anything of what was happening downstairs.

For a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes, he heard nothing but muffled voices, but he couldn’t tell who was talking. Then a dull crashing sound, like a chair being knocked over, though God only knew what that was. As long as Murphy wasn’t pushing his luck, Connor didn’t care.

Trying his own, Connor tried to speak, though was shut down just as fast.

It was almost forty minutes before the son, Mark, had a change of heart and spoke to him. His voice was youthful, but void of any pleasure at the current situation. He just sounded bored, as though this was nothing more than a tedious routine. The entire situation was becoming tedious as it was, even if only from a physical; he knees ached, and the pins and needles in his feet was awful, but evidently, the younger man’s curiosity throbbed even more so.

“Why didn’t you get out while you could?”

When Connor said nothing at first, the son tried again, this time with a force that obviously wasn’t natural to him.

“I’m talking to you. Why didn’t you run? You saw what was in here, man. You saw what was in Ellie’s room. Any normal person would’ve been miles away by then”

Finally glancing back up at him, Connor thought for a moment, speaking cautiously but clearly.

“…I guess I was desperate. We needed somewhere to stay, somewhere to recoup. This place was perfect, until…well” Motioning to the room around him, he cleared his throat.

“I’m wonderin’…how’d you get up here without us hearin’..?”

Pausing for a moment, Mark finally answered him.

“I was already in the house when you two let yourselves in. I was in Dad’s room – hid in the closet till I heard my Dad find you”

 

“That’d do it…” Connor muttered with a nod, clearing his throat once more, which in turn quickly triggered a small coughing fit, despite his best efforts to suppress it. A few feet away, the teenager just watched through sleep deprived eyes.

“You been bitten..?”

Catching his breath, Connor shook his head, not that his answer mattered. He still found himself with a gun impressing a mark into his forehead as his jacket roughly pulled off, and his arms and neck were checked for bites or scratches. Once he was satisfied, the young man released him, and returned to his spot.

“…What happens now.”

“We wait.”

“For what..?”

He shrugged impatiently, as if the answer should have been apparent. “For my Dad to tell me to kill you or that he wants you instead. Depends when he’s done with the other guy, how long he’ll be.”

Closing his eyes, Connor had to will himself to keep it together; something that was proving incredibly difficult given that he had no idea what else these two were capable of. His first instinct was always that ‘they’d be fine. They’d get out of this’, that they’d live to see another day. But this clusterfuck of an evening was rapidly pissing on that cocky assumption.

No. They would make it, they’d get out – he just needed to find the opportunity to act. Just needed to use his head. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried speaking again, catching his captor’s eye and holding it for as long as he’d allow.

“That other guy – you know who he is?”

Pulling a hand over his face in weariness, the young man shrugged, and shook his head, heavy dark curls bouncing against his forehead.

“That’s my younger brother your Da’s got down there-”

“So?”

“So, you mentioned Ellie, right? That’s your little sister?”

“ _Was_ my little sister – look man, what’s your point?”

That’d struck a nerve; exactly what Connor was hoping for. Playing up the earnest, innocent man was easy enough when he needed it to work. Now was definitely one of those times.

“What if we’d swapped places? What if it was you kneelin’ here, with your sister bein’ taken off some place, somewhere you didn’t know. You didn’t know what was happenin’ to her – imagine she’s all you’ve got, she’s your only family. Wouldn’t you wanna keep her safe-”

He may have gotten a hard hit to the face with the butt of the gun, but seconds later he was being hauled back up, the mouth coming to rest right between his eyes. When he looked up, he saw in the dim light that the young man was doing his best to not cry.

“Shut the fuck up! I fucking mean it, don’t say another word”

“ _That’s what’s happenin’ here,_ Mark – Murphy’s all I’ve fuckin’ got, I’m meant t’look out for him. I know you don’t want to do this, you didn’t wanna do any of that shit. You’re a good kid – I’m just askin’ – listen, I’m askin’ you talk to your Da-”

Looking from the bodies back to Connor, Mark hurriedly wiped at his face, returning the gun in record time.

“And say what..?? You think I can make him do anything? He’s fucking crazy-”

“Aye, I know – listen, you tell him this. Tell him, if he lets Murphy go, I’ll stay. A’right? He can do what he wants with me, as long as he lets him leave”

Hesitating in all the right spots, looking pained when he needed to…he didn’t know if he was any good at acting, but whatever he was doing it was working, because Mark was looking at the door through large, glassy eyes, seemingly considering the idea. A small tremble ran through the gun.

“…I would’ve done that, for her…but she’s little, you know? You’re willing to do that for him..?”

“Aye.” Connor replied with total sincerity. “Like I said…he’s all I’ve got.”

For a second, Mark looked away once more, to wipe his eyes or just to take a deep breath. Whatever it was, it was all the time Connor needed. In the blink of an eye, he’d grabbed for the gun, wrenching it from Mark’s hand and giving just as good as he’d gotten – a hard hit to the jaw. It all happened so fast, he didn’t have time to react – by the time he’d realized how screwed he was, he was pinned to the bathroom door by a hand covering his mouth, holding him down. The air of fear and innocence Connor had played up was gone completely now, replaced only by a man looking to live.

“Sorry, kid.”

Before Mark could process what he was apologizing for, a shot had shattered the carefully constructed silence of the house. His screams of pain were turned into incoherent noises, muffled by the hand over his mouth. With blood cascading down his leg, Mark needed some motivation to listen to what Connor had to say, but eventually his yells had become piteous whimpers, tears now flowing freely.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen; I’m gonna take y’downstairs, and this-” Bringing the gun up from the kid’s thigh, “-is gonna stay glued to your fuckin’ temple until Murphy’s in the car with the engine runnin’, we clear here? Now I don’t wanna have to kill you, I really don’t, so I suggest doin’ as I’m tellin’ you right now. Fuckin’ nod if we’re on the same page, I ain’t messin’ around here”

Once he’d gotten the confirmation he needed, Connor only had to dole out the instructions and Mark obeyed without a second’s hesitation. The torch was picked up in shaking hands, the door was unlocked and they were back out into the hallway, now with Connor holding the gun and the shirt collar, though that also meant taking a lot of the kid’s weight. Hissing at him to keep quiet, as they started down the stairs Connor was reminded of the fire fight when Rocco had lost his finger – where they’d all taken their share of bullets. Murphy had gotten one to the calf, and while it’d be horrendously painful, he’d dealt with it. He was scared, he got that. And while he hadn’t wanted to hurt him at all, unfortunately, the time for half measures was gone.

Stumbling one the last two steps, Connor yanked him back upright, and slowed to a stop when he was met with the father at the end of the corridor, just a black figure occasionally flickering into the shape of a man in the trembling torch light. Keeping his word, Connor lifted the gun, and held it to Mark’s head. When he yelled for his brother, he kept his eyes on his target, lips curling into something of a snarl when he saw the blood that stained his hands and shirt cuffs.

“Murph’ – you alright?”

“He can’t answer you-”

“You shut the fuck up – Murphy! Fuckin’ talk to me”

When the father took a step forward, Connor pulled Mark’s head further back, hair caught in a cruel grip, pressing the gun under his chin without hesitation.

“You drop the gun and kick it over here. Now. I fuckin’ mean it.”

“Do it, Dad – come on, please” begged the boy at his mercy.

“It’s alright, Son. He’s not going to do anything.” Though they couldn’t see it well, the father smiled, almost smugly. “They’re men of God. They won’t-”

The first shot hit only inches from his head, coming to a stop in the wall behind him. Eyes flashing with warning, Connor dragged the boy forward a little, and replaced the weapon at its post, this time forcing its way into Mark’s mouth and between his teeth, rendering any sounds of pain and fear now completely terrified.

“I’ve already caused your boy some pain, don’t you dare think I’m not willin’ to cause some more. Now _drop_ the fuckin’ gun, and kick it over here before I blow your son’s brains out the back of his fuckin’ head.”

When he still hesitated, the sudden roar of Connor’s voice – FUCKIN’ DO IT - made all parties jump a little, frightened and pathetic sounds emanating from the hostage in his grip. Connor went to drive his point home by pressing the gun to Mark’s left palm instead. But before he could put a bullet through his hand, the father did as instructed, the metal hitting the floor with a soft ‘thud’. And as asked, soon enough it was kicked towards the two, with Connor pulling it closer with his foot, and kicking it out of sight into the darkness behind him. Dragging the kid down the hall, the gun was lifted and pointed at the father once again. At this point, he didn’t know if the father was lying or not. If Murphy was unable to answer because he was bleeding out somewhere in the house or if, best case scenario, he’d just been knocked out. Either way, the old man wasn’t going to live to see another day. That he was certain about.

Bringing his voice down to a slow, venomous volume, Connor held the weapon steady, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Where is he?”

“You haven’t got far to go.” He replied with that same, goddamn smile. With a nod to his right, towards the kitchen door, Connor took a breath, and fired. It hit him square in the chest, knocking that smug expression off of his face and sending him skidding back, hitting the wall and sinking the floor. Finally releasing Mark, Connor made his way into the kitchen, leaving the dying man and his grieving son to say whatever needed saying.

What he found he hadn’t been expecting. The state he found his brother in made Connor sick to his stomach, and for a second, he feared he was too late – until Murphy took a laboured breath, his head flopping forward as if his neck could no longer support it. When he became aware someone else was in the room and then in front of him, at first he flinched away, though once he’d realized it was Connor, his demeanor changed entirely. He pulled at his restraints with new found vigour, making sounds that Connor could only imagine were something along the lines of ‘get me the fuck out of here’

Hurriedly removing the tape from his mouth, he cast it aside as the other inhaled quickly and deeply a few times, as though he’d been holding his breath all this time.

“Fuckin’ hell…fuckin’ Christ, Connor-”

“We’re gettin’ out of here right now, alright? Christ, look at the state of you…”

“Trust me, it looks as bad as it feels – now get me the fuck out of this chair”

No sooner had he said it was he stumbling to his feet, having to trust that Connor would catch him when he realized that moving was going to be a painful business. Grabbing the bloody knife from the table top, Connor pushed an arm around Murphy’s waist, who in turn hooked an arm around his brother’s neck. Murphy had to let his brother take most of his weight as they headed for the door, though they didn’t get far.

Stopping by where Mark was still knelt with his father’s rapidly-fading body, Murphy let go of his brother and took the knife from him, and despite the pain he was in, still fell to his knees, and roused the man from unconsciousness long enough for him to be aware of the blade in his hand. He only needed a glint of dread to take his cue, plunging the knife into the father’s chest, and belly, and finally, his throat, pulling it free with a healthy spurt of blood as Connor hoisted him back to his feet.

“Come on, brother. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Breathing heavily from the effort and the pain, Murphy eventually nodded, spitting at the man’s feet as he was led away with gritted teeth.

Even through the wind and the rain, as Connor helped Murphy into the front seat, he could have sworn he could still hear Mark’s sobbing and wailing, the pleading to his Dad not to leave him. It was a sound he knew wouldn’t leave him easily, but for the time being, he needed to focus on the sounds his brother was trying to suppress, and on the road ahead as they pulled away.

 


	53. Waste not, want not

“Christ…he cut you up pretty bad.”

“Thanks Sherlock. I hadn’t fuckin’ noticed.”

“Just sayin’ – you’re probably gonna have a scar right there. That’d look pretty badass”

Reaching over to prod his brother’s swollen cheek bone, Connor just laughed as his hand was smacked away. Murphy just slumped down in his seat, replacing the ice pack with a wince.

“You know Ma’s gonna flip out, right?”

Murphy said nothing, doing his level best to ignore his twin and failing miserably.

“…Hey, look – I’m sorry, alright?”

“You already said.”

 “Aye, well – I’m sayin’ it again until you let me off the hook. I know I should’a been there to back you up”

“Aye, you fuckin’ should’ve. But you weren’t.” Murphy snapped, before going back to examining the blood stains that climbed the stripes on his school tie like a ladder, his face threatening to remain fixed in an embarrassed scowl for the rest of his life if he didn’t pull another expression soon.

They didn’t speak again after that, as the door opened and their teacher returned, a mug off coffee in hand and a pile of exercise books under her arm. When she realized what was different about the boys, she gave Connor a knowing raised brow, and nodded to the back of the room where he had originally been told to sit. From then for the next hour, they sat in near-silence, the scratch of the teacher’s pencil against assignments the only sound allowed, other than the ticking clock behind her head. When five o’clock finally came around and they were excused, Connor was the first out the room. For a minute, Murphy considered going after him, but with his pride just as bashed as his face, he elected to leave him, giving him a fair head start before he followed on.

The sky was dull and grey, and the air cold – same as always. The walk home was the same as always, with the same trees and the same as always shortcut home – the only thing that was different was that this time, there was only one pair of feet kicking stones down the pavement. He wasn’t even that angry with Connor, just sore and humiliated at being knocked down so many pegs. He knew Connor had been held back by their English teacher after class, knew that he couldn’t have helped it. It was his own stupid fault for rising to the older boys’ jibes, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. And yet, when he let himself into the house and saw his brother’s bag dumped down by the stairs, he found himself hesitating before heading up to their room.

Connor was laying on his bed, looking at nothing in particular with his headphones on, and until he looked over, it was impossible to tell if he’d heard Murphy come in, but simply hadn’t reacted. For an abnormally long couple of minutes, neither of them said anything. Murphy got changed, and Connor continued to pretend to be distracted by his Walkman. It was only when he finally felt Murphy perch on the edge of his bed, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to, that Connor responded, begrudgingly moving his feet so that he could sit back properly, and pulling his headphones down around his neck. As he sat up himself, he finally gave his bruised brother a nudge with his foot, and a smirk.

“You ready t’stop sulkin’ at me now..?”

Murphy eventually looked up from his hands, and nodded somewhat sheepishly.

“Good…’cause I am sorry”

“I know, I know…”

When both boys had managed a smile and the ice was completely broken, Connor turned to look at the clock.

“Still got a few hours till Ma’s home…wanna go next door? Ask Siobhan if you can borrow some cover up, make yourself look all pretty again?”

“Fuck off”

“Aww, come on Murph’ – you’d make a fuck-ugly girl, but y’can’t be worryin’ about what people think of you-”

He couldn’t quite move his legs away fast enough before Murphy could hit him, but just like that, the two were back to normal. Soon enough they were back to inspecting Murphy’s face, and trying to guess what parts of his face would turn black and blue first, although the most exciting part for Connor at least was when Murphy hopped off the bed and lifted his shirt, showing off the already impressive patches of red and purple. Once the initial pain had worn off, any bruises or cuts they earned themselves for a few days became badges of honour and battle scars, used to amaze any other kids that were curious enough to ask.

X

 “Stop – stop the fuckin’ car, just pull over!”

A wise move anyway given how much heavier the rain had become; in the short amount of time the boys had been outside as they made their escape from the house, both had become soaked to the bone, the rain water washing Murphy’s hands clean of the father’s blood, and his entire torso into a red waterfall, like a fresh painting with spilled water washing the colours away. But of course, by the time he’d been clambered into the passenger seat, the random slashes and the carefully constructed cuts alike had all begun to weep once again.

Connor did as instructed, the windshield becoming obscured and battered as he killed the engine, immediately going to peel away the shirt that was now sticking to his brother’s skin, cursing under his breath as he realized the state he was in.

“We don’t have enough shit for this, Murph’-”

“Just fuckin’ use whatever’s in there, I don’t give a shit”

And with that, he was pushing aside bags and opening them, hurriedly rummaging through them trying to find the first supplies, and eventually filling his hands with what little amounts they’d collected. The best they had was antiseptic wipes and a bottle of antiseptic fluid, which would not be received well, and some small bandages and burn cream. But nothing in the way of sutures or gauze or pain relief, the three things they needed most. The only thing he could do was try to clean him up as best he could, grabbing a clean shirt from one of the bags and replacing the sodden scarlet shirt that Murphy had been wearing only half an hour before. Connor pulled himself back to the front of the car, pushing Murphy’s hands away so he could take a closer look. He’d reclined his seat back as far as it would go, trying to make himself more comfortable and to give Connor the best angle to work at. Everything was just running red now, the car seat and Connor’s hands, the two of them rapidly becoming stained with fresh blood. Most of the lacerations were painful but shallow, though one or two Connor made a mental note of. Until he could get something to cover them up, he’d have trouble getting them to stop bleeding, with every movement disturbing them and making them open once more.

The places around his neck where the beads of his rosary came to rest were now marked with tiny puncture marks, a line joining them together cut in carefully, with a crudely drawn cross etched into his flesh where the lines of beads met like someone would a tree trunk with their initials, as though the old man had been tracing the beads, tattooing them in blood instead of ink. Their father’s name had been scored through, while the rest of his chest and torso was just littered with similar carvings. A thick X marked where his heart was beating under his ribs, doing its level best to deal with the shock and the pain it’s host was in.

However, it was the wide V-necked incision that met in the centre of his chest and ran down his sternum, only coming to an end at his belly button that had Connor the most concerned. And evidently, that showed on his face, because when Murphy next looked up at him, he leaned his head back, letting his eyes venture anywhere that wasn’t his own body.

“S’fuckin’ bad, right? Really messed up and shit?”

“You’re alright, Murph’ – you’re gonna be fine. It’s nothin’ we can’t handle.”

“Then tell me – it’s gonna be a right mess”

“Be honest – when have we ever dealt with anythin’ less?”

Giving his brother’s shoulder a squeeze as he ripped open the first of the wipes. He had no idea what he was doing – was he meant to wait for them to stop bleeding, or was this right? Should he have just cleaned them with water? Fuck knows, but Murphy didn’t need to know that.

When he leaned over to try to continue, Murphy had glanced down to see what he was doing, and clamped a hand to Connor’s shoulder, teeth gritting and eyes wrenching shut against the merciless sting of his injuries as his sibling started, only making his discomfort known when Connor hit a particularly sore gash in his skin. It burned like hell, just when he thought it couldn’t be any worse.

Glancing up guiltily, Connor could only carry on what he was doing, trying his best to get him through it. They could both handle pain, they’d both taken bullets in the past and had their fair share of fights and beatings, but that didn’t make it any easier to see in one another.

“Come on Murph’ – s’just a few scratches, stop bein’ a baby”

“Go fuck yourself”

“Will do. Hey - You’re doin’ well, a’right? You’re gonna be fine”

Murphy exhaled heavily with a half-hearted scoff, his reply hammered home as his grip on Connor’s shoulder tightened, his voice strained with the effort of not letting on how much he was hurting.

“Aye, well – s’fuckin’ easy for you to fuckin’ say-” A sharp, fast inhale hissed through his teeth as more antiseptic was applied, his head meeting the headrest in one quick motion. “Where the fuck were you, Conn’? I was in that fuckin’ chair for over a fuckin’ hour-”

“I was upstairs with a gun pointed to me fuckin’ head – not much I could do and you know it. Now shut up and let me finish, and don’t you even try t’blame this on me”

“I’m not blamin’ you-”

“Well it sure fuckin’ sounds like it.”

Drawing in a few deep breaths as his jaw tightened, Murphy looked away, hoping the rain could serve as an adequate distraction until Connor finished up, only this time, the quiet between them didn’t last.

“Sorry”

“Thought I told you t’shut up?”

When he was met with a familiar grin, Murphy rolled his eyes, but returned the favour, though it was quickly wiped away by his brother’s next question;

“The old man…Did he say anythin’ to you?”

X

“You know…more often than not, you can tell if a person’s done bad things. Just by looking at them, or at least, I can. Never been wrong about it, not for a long time at least…and I have a sneaking feeling you won’t be any different. Now, you and this ‘Noah’ person – I am assuming that’s his name, yes? Well, you both seem like good enough young men, at a first glance maybe. But now that I’ve really spent some time with you, I’m realizing you’re not as God-adhering as either of us would like. You wear these beads, but I have a feeling you’ll like mine just a little better. Now, it might be just a little uncomfortable at first, but I figure it’s the least I could do after you spoke to me the way you did.”

It was as if he didn’t know Murphy could hear him, or that Murphy was even there. Just sat there idly talking as he methodically wiped away the fresh trickles of blood, and punctured another hole into the Irishman’s skin. Each time, Murphy would try to move away or cringe back, not that it made the slightest bit of difference; he always ended up bleeding and struggling to get enough air to deal with what his body was being put through. He’d hoped the sweat on his face would loosen the tape across his mouth, but it held strong.

Once he was finished, he swapped out the instrument he’d been using for a small pocket knife, leaving Murphy a few precious seconds of respite. His skin burned terribly, a sensation only made worse when the tip of the blade was pushed into it once more.

The noises he was making only encouraged the older man, not that he needed it. He carried on chattering like it was nothing, holding Murphy down occasionally when he needed him to be particularly still.

“Now…I know what you’re thinking. I’m not a very good person, right? But, I like to think that actually, I am.  I’m raising my kids as best I can, I welcome in any travellers that need a place to stay for the night. Now, of course, desperate times call for desperate measures, but let me ask you something – if the two of you,” he paused to gesture upstairs, presumably to Connor, “were on a life boat, and only one can live if they kill and eat the other, which of you would come out on top? Would you be willing to eat him to keep yourself alive?”

By this point, Murphy was beginning to lose his ability to protest anymore – when he wasn’t being restrained by the man himself, he was too terrified of jogging the knife and driving it deeper into his chest. All he could do was grip the armrests in a white-knuckle attempt to get through this as quickly as he could, sweating rolling down his face and his breathing shallow and sporadic. When the man brought his face up between his fingers, still wet and hot with his own blood, Murphy found himself unable to look away from the expression on his face. A gnarled and twisted look of curiosity, and just a hint of amusement, but his voice remained even and calm as ever.

“You threatened to cut out my heart – but what would you do with it once it was twitching in your hand? Throw it away? Because that’s such an interesting part of an animal to eat. And you know, I have a feeling that once I’m done here with you and we bring your friend down here, and after I’ve opened him up and cut out _his_ and forced it down your throat piece by piece, you’ll begin to agree with me. Hell! He’s in pretty good shape, wouldn’t you say? There’s several meals there for you, easily”

He didn’t need to say much more after that, though once the pained, muffled sounds coming from his victim became just a little too repetitive, a lightly whistled tune did a fine job of tuning the Irishman out.

X

“The old man…did he say anythin’ to you?”

After a moment of feigned recollection, Murphy just shook his head with a weak frown.

“Nah…nah, nothin’.”


	54. Terminus

Her steps had been slow and steady, but never stopping. Where they once would have tired, now they carried her for miles without even a hint of ache or fatigue. Where she would have slept, she walked. Where she would have felt fear or immense sorrow at the state of the world and her own mortality, she only felt a primal, insatiable hunger. Any philosophers or poets left alive might have said the walkers, the biters, the lurkers – whatever you called them – only longed for the flesh of the living in an attempt to revitalise their decomposing muscles and brings themselves out of their morbid stupor. As her hair gradually thinned and matted against her taut and peeling skin, as her eyes became nothing more than clouded stones in cavernous sockets, the only thing that drove her were the sounds of guns, or yells or explosions – the things nature couldn’t provide. Because in this new world, nature was faster than the, more often than not, dim witted arrogance of man.

As the sheets of rain rallied against her, she just continued to walk on, the cold bite of the wind no longer causing discomfort. And soon, her steps took her out of the forest and up onto the road, where a car sat, quite out of place on the long stretch of nothingness. Her hands pressed against the backseat window and her face followed suit, slight movement towards the front of the car catching her eye, and exciting her movements, so much so that the next time her palms met the glass, it was enough to get one of the men inside to jolt awake. Sleep-fogged eyes, already tired from supporting the weight of dark rings beneath them, now strained to see what it was that had woken him. Had she had any idea of what they’d already been through, her more rational, living self would have left them well alone. But as it stood, she just continued to push her face against the glass, teeth running against the surface in an ever vain attempt to get to the man sleeping soundly on the other side. The temptation didn’t last long, however. Soon after that, the car pulled away, leaving her reaching for it and following after it, though within seconds it was obvious she hadn’t a hope in hell of catching up to them.

Murphy woke a few minutes after Connor had pulled to a stop. It was apparent neither of them had planned on being awake again so soon, the dark circles staining their under-eye’s like bruises, as though exhaustion was beginning to show itself in more ways than dulled reflexes and irritability. He still ached terribly, certain wounds still stinging like they were seconds instead of hours old. A heavy sigh from him told Connor he was awake, and the look they shared was one of frustration, and a desperate need for sleep. A need to get away from the world for a while longer, even if their dreams were either dark and disturbing, or simply went forgotten as soon as they woke up again.

“Thought you were down for the night..?”

“So did I” said Connor, leaning his elbow into the corner of the window, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up more, fingers wearily drumming against the steering wheel. “Walkers were startin’ to get ideas. Should’a found somewhere to stay before crashin’”

“Yeah, and y’look like shite now – but you looked worse earlier.”

Shifting in his seat as much as he could before the discomfort got too much, Murphy leaned to the side and looked out of the window at the black abyss of sky, clouds still unleashing rain in torrents.

“How long were you drivin’ in this..?”

“Long enough.”

Neither of them said anything after that. Instead, Murphy just watched Connor as he found his torch and clicked it on, securing it between his teeth as he turned in his seat. Any other spare clothes he could find were pulled out of their bags, and precariously hung in front of the windows and the windshield. The back ones proved to be more of a challenge, but after some hissed cursing and fumbling around, he was back in the driver’s seat. Murphy flicked his eyes over the cars modifications, smirking a little with widening eyes.

“Look at that…you’ve only gone and made us a _fort_ ”

Despite his best attempt to look sullen and serious, Connor couldn’t keep back a tired snort at the memory of their friend’s comments.

“Aye, well…not just that. It’s a fort on fuckin’ wheels.”

“All we need’s a couple of sticks, some more blankets….maybe some of your stupid fuckin’ rope-”

“Don’t start on the rope, it was fuckin’ useful and you fuckin’ know it.”

Grabbing the torch before Murphy could, Connor spun it in his hand and shone it directly in his brother’s face before killing the light.

“Now go the fuck to sleep.”

 

Murphy couldn’t have said if they had any more visits from walkers in the night. He’d fallen asleep so quickly and he’d slept so deeply, that anything could have happened and he probably wouldn’t have known. However, when he woke up with a horrifically stiff neck and fresh patches of red spilled across his chest, he didn’t feel refreshed or well rested. Anything but. Pushing his fingertips firmly into the side of his neck, he quickly came to realize Connor was missing. Not only that, but the storm had finally come to an end, the light streaming between the gaps in the hanging shirts at the windows bright and new, almost obnoxiously so as he pulled down the one closest to him.

Getting out of the car was far from painless, but he managed it, back, shoulders and legs all creaking and cracking in their own time as he straightened up, rolling his head to either side and breathing in as deep as he could.

“Mornin’”

When he turned, the first thing he saw was the map spread out on the car bonnet, the second was Connor, examining it as a coroner would a homicide victim. He only looked up when Murphy had stepped up to the other side and tugged the map a little his way, though at the same time, Murphy saw how shattered he looked.

“You look like shit”

“And you’re Miss Georgia first thing in the fuckin’ mornin’, yeah?” Clapping him on the arm, Connor pulled the map back and turned it around, pointing to a small black X. “A’right - We’re here, but we’ve got another 50 miles, maybe a little less before we get to Macon if we keep headin’ in this direction...we need to get more gas, jus’ t’be safe”

Murphy just nodded his agreement for the time being, glancing over the crumpled paper underneath his hand, eyes soon finding their apparent destination.

“That’s the plan then..?”

Connor nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“And what happens after that? You wanna stay there?”

“If the shit hits the fan there, we can go further South – try Savannah, maybe Jacksonville.”

It was ambitious, even for one of Connor’s plans, and Murphy’s expression sold it.

“That’s a lot of drivin’…”

“Aye. But hey, what else have we got to do, right? Besides, it might not even come to that. We could find some long-lost refugee camp for survivors along the road. Maybe even a big-ass boat that’ll take us back to Kilkenny.”

“Oh aye, keep dreamin’.”

The halfway-playful smiles they’d both mustered slowly faded – Connor’s because he was now focusing on Murphy’s injuries, and Murphy for the same reason, hands gingerly touching the ones which had opened and bled during the night, wincing with each one.

“…How’re you doin’?”

“Fine…Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Alright, I hear you…Hey, you remember anythin’ from last night?”

Murphy frowned. “I remember wakin’ up and you drivin’. You said there were walkers or some shit”

“None’a the rest?” When he only shrugged again, Connor pulled a face of slight disbelief. “You were only up half the bloody night. Talkin’ in your sleep, nightmares-”

“Fuck off…”

“I ain’t messin’ with you, Murph’. Either way, looks like you got more shut eye than me.”

The glimmer of defence left him, and was quickly replaced by guilt. That explained why Connor looked so exhausted – if not by walkers, he’d been kept up by him.

“Sorry, man…next time, just boot me out the car. Sure I’ll do jus’ fine”

“It was temptin’, trust me” Somehow, Connor managed a light kind of laugh, more mixed with his words than a separate sound, folding the map once and twice and casting a look at the road ahead. It was almost perfectly silent, apart from the leaves hissing and crinkling in the wind, and the occasional bird hidden among the branches. The air smelled of the rain that’d soaked the area the day and night before, crisp and new, refreshing but chilled. Either way, it was a change to the stagnation of block A; that was an atmosphere neither could nor would forget in a hurry.

With the map pushed into his back pocket, Connor motioned for Murphy to get back in the car, though of course, this wasn’t suggested without protest. And so, after a simple argument in his defence and a weak attempt to argue back, the two made themselves comfortable on the bonnet of the car. Murphy had said he was sick of being cramped up, needed a few minutes to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, while honestly all he needed – all they both needed – was for everything to just stop for a while. For things to just be still and quiet. Times like this nowadays were all but mythical. Of course, they were careful to watch for walkers, but given how little sound there was, any footsteps or groans would be heard easily, any rustling from the forest quickly noted. Neither of the boys spoke, not really. A muttered comment here and there, an ‘aye’ of agreement, but no real conversation. Only when Murphy finally caved and pushed himself to his feet to get them something to eat did they really talk again. The jerky tasted like flavoured cardboard and what was once some kind of carbonated sports drink was practically flat, but it was better than nothing. Food had become such a rare and valuable thing when it was found, that it was almost like torture eating it, especially good stuff – because you never knew when you’d get to have it again.

Ripping a piece off with his teeth, Murphy passed the packet back, chewing thoughtfully for a minute before following a few chesty coughs with a question, one that made Connor pause before answering.

“How long d’you reckon we’ll be able to keep this up?”

“As long as we need to.”

“For the rest of our lives..? Just, drivin’ and scavengin’..? I mean, we ain’t teenagers anymore, but we’re not greetin’ the reaper anytime soon either”

Connor just turned the packet over in his hands, keeping them busy as he dropped his eyes from Murphy and lifted them back to the view ahead.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Murph’…I know I ain’t dyin’ any time soon, and neither are you. So, till the world ends, we act like it intends to keep spinnin’.”

“Hate to disappoint you, Conn’ – but it kinda already has”

With a feigned, but weary look of pleasant surprise, Connor pushed himself off of the bonnet and lifted his arms in mock celebration.

“And look at us now! Gold medal winners, we’ve been doin’ so fuckin’ great so far!”

Giving him a sarcastic round of applause, Murphy followed his lead, and climbed back into the passenger side, seriously overestimating how difficult said action would be, but still managing it without Connor getting too concerned. Grabbing the pack of jerky from him, Murphy helped himself to another handful as the engine came to life.

The sun practically refused to come out again over the course of the day, not that either of them particularly cared much. They’d been brought up under overcast skies and thick grey clouds, with the sun only coming out for a select few weekends in the year, or so it seemed. Murphy took up his post as navigator, and for a little while, it was pretty much smooth sailing.

 But, as with most things, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. The cough they’d both contracted still clung to them like a bad memory, and while Murphy didn’t seem to be as phased by it as he had been days ago, Connor wasn’t doing as well. Every few minutes, he’d start up all over again, doing his best to suppress it and more often than not making it worse in the process. Getting soaked to the bone when they’d escaped the ‘house of horrors’, as it’d been dubbed, probably hadn’t helped, nor had staying in wet clothes and not getting enough sleep. Not enough of anything they needed to get over it. But, Murphy said nothing, knowing that his sibling would brush him off, not that there was anything either of them could have done anyway. All they could do was hope they were as strong and invincible as they used to think they both were, back when bullets and killing were nothing more than exciting plot points in TV shows.

“Any way we can get back onto route 18?”

Stifling a yawn, Connor tapped the map with the back of his hand, the other resting dutifully on the steering wheel.

“Can’t get back on something we were never usin’ in the first place.”

“Well, it’s a straight shot on there to the next city. If not, it’s gonna be a long drive.”

“Only as long as the fuel tank holds out…Christ, people who complained about the price of petrol…wonder how they’re gettin’ on now that it’s like fuckin’ gold…”

“Think we’ll make it?”

“Just about, if we’re lucky.”

Only a couple of minutes went by before Connor looked back to his brother briefly, making sure he was still awake as he went to speak.

“How’re you doin’ after that? The old man, back at the house I mean-”

“How many fuckin’ times do I have to tell you I’m fuckin’ fine? Psycho just cut me up a bit, could’a been worse. I’m fine, Connor. Just fuckin’ leave it”

“I ain’t talkin’ about all that – I’m talkin’ about you killin’ him”

For a short few seconds, Murphy could only look at his brother in incredulous disbelief.

“Are you fuckin’ serious? The man was a psychopath, he killed people – would’a killed us!”

“You don’t think I know all that? I’m just sayin’, the way you did it – that was pretty fuckin’ graphic, Murph’. It ain’t the same as shootin’ someone-”

“It needed doin’. That’s that. If I hadn’t, someone else would’a gotten hurt.” With a slightly defensive sigh, Murphy rubbed a hand through his hair, letting his elbow come to rest on the window. “We used to kill men like him all the time, and only now do you wanna get on your fuckin’ high horse-”

“Hey – I’m not gettin’ up on anythin’ here. He had to die, I get that, and if you hadn’t of had the honour, I would’ve taken it gladly. I’m tryin’ to ask if you’re okay after turnin’ someone into a fuckin’ knife block.”

The realization that it was more concern than criticism suddenly made a lot more sense. Thinking over his answer, Murphy cleared his throat, and didn’t look at Connor again while he replied.

“It’s the heat of the moment, you know? I was angry, fuckin’ terrified, relieved you were okay and we were gettin’ out, and I just…lost it for a second.”

His fingers flexed a little as the memory replayed in his head, eyes closing, just for a moment.

“Felt like…I don’t know. It’s as easy as it looks, and a lot harder. Drivin’ a knife into someone…I prefer guns, and I’m leavin’ it at that.”

“Fair enough”

The subject had been settled less than a minute before both of the brothers were leaning forward a little, trying to read the words that had been spray painted onto one of the larger road signs. As they drew closer, Connor stopped the car, and they both climbed out, looking up to read the sign properly.

“The fuck does that mean..?”

Disregarding the words beneath it, Connor shot Murphy a look.

“’Terminus’…looks like the end is nigh, brother.”

 


	55. Dirty little devils

For a few moments they looked at the sign, unsure of what to make of it. It promised sanctuary and security, but neither looked particularly convinced. Only when Connor noticed the map below it did he make a move forward. The thing was faded to hell, but a few of the town and city names still stuck out, as did the black X marking Terminus’ location. Making a quick estimation as to where they were now, it didn’t look promising.

“’Those who arrive survive’…” Murphy said, almost to himself, speaking loud enough for Connor to hear a second later. “You think it’s a camp of some kind..?”

“I think it’s nothin’. Come on, we should get movin’.”

Murphy hesitated a second longer before copying his brother, his hand going to his torso as he sat back in the car and slammed the door behind him, as if to keep the bandages in place a while longer. And within the minute, they were on the road once more. It wasn’t long before one of them spoke again.

“Could be good, whatever it is”

Connor glanced in the rear view mirror as he replied, albeit a little wearily. “Terminus?”

“Aye. Maybe it’s like some refugee place, or like the prison”

“Or maybe it’s like Woodbury.”

“Other than the sociopath leader, Woodbury had a good thing goin’.” Holding up his hands, he gave a shrug. “I’m not sayin’ we should go, just that if it exists and it’s legit, then good on ‘em.”

“Aye, well…even if it does exist and it’s still up an’ runnin’, it’s in the opposite direction to where we’re headed – we’d be wastin’ fuel on somethin’ we don’t know anythin’ about. We gave Woodbury a fair shot, and the Prison…we should try it on our own for a bit. See where that gets us.”

And so they did. As they drove, they’d see the occasional sign, urging them to turn around and head back up towards this new found safe haven. And while he knew Connor was right and that they were both on the same page, Murphy couldn’t resist letting himself imagine what it could be like. It almost made him miss Woodbury. Despite its leader and his way of thinking, it had been the most welcoming place they’d both stayed in in a long time. There’d been real food, and medical help if they ever needed it, and for the first time in months they’d been able to sleep right. Hadn’t had to worry about where the other was or if they were safe. Until everything had kicked off with the raid, Woodbury could have been home for a while longer.

However, when the engine began to make odd sounds, it shook them both out of their own heads. Connor barely had a ‘What the fuck’ out before it really began to sputter, and streams of grey and black smoke began to creep and billow from under the bonnet. Haphazardly pulling off to the side of the road, Connor killed the engine and climbed out, swearing as he went.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me”

Lifting the bonnet only emptied a cloud of the acrid smoke into his face, forcing him back a few steps and setting off a bad fit of coughs. Murphy just joined his side, and watched it erupt as he rubbed his back while he caught his breath. Once he’d straightened up again, for a second they just looked at the car in disbelief and weary defeat. They could both drive, but neither knew a lot about mechanics. The bare basics at a stretch, but as they came to the realization that they were pretty much stranded, it was easy to conclude they could do very little.

Rubbing his nails through his hair, Connor sighed heavily, and shook his head.

“This is all we fuckin’ need…right fuckin’ now, this is all we fuckin’ need…”

The bite in his tone was hard to ignore.

“…Come on. Let’s get the shit outta the back”

“And then what, genius? We hitchhike? In case y’hadn’t noticed there ain’t exactly an abundance of spare cars just layin’ around and there’s more shit back there than we can carry.”

Murphy just narrowed his eyes at him, and went to snap back, but instead just made his way around to the back passenger side door, leaving Connor to fume by himself for a minute. Eventually, he followed suit, going to the other side and doing as he did.

For the most part, he’d exaggerated; the supplies they had would weigh them down, but next to all of it could be carried in their two bags. When Murphy tried to swing his onto his shoulder and promptly failed, it hit the ground with a heavy ‘thud’ as he braced himself against the car, a curse of his own slipping through gritted teeth. Picking it up for him, Connor pushed it onto the backseat, and turned Murphy around to face him, though he didn’t need to lift his brother’s shirt to see that he’d opened up one of the bigger gashes that ran parallel to the bottom of his ribcage. Not by much, but enough to stain another shirt.

“Guess you’re still feelin’ delicate then”

“Fuck off…fuckin’ stings”

“Aye, I’ll bet. You’ll be alright?”

Murphy just nodded, and went for his bag again, this time lifting it and hooking it onto his shoulder with a little more caution. Once he was sure he was okay, Connor clapped him on the arm, and went back to retrieve his own. As they started to walk, he gave the car tire an enthusiastic kick to the right front tyre as a harsh goodbye, and gradually, the vehicle became smaller and smaller behind them. A little down the way, they stopped to see if there was anything ahead; any houses, gas stations, stores, anything. Of course, Connor’s estimations as to where exactly they were could have been off, but it was better than nothing. The next name in their direction was a town called Aldora, and after that, the city of Barnesville. Both potentially promising, but the boys both knew the journey to both had suddenly became far more precarious, and one hundred per cent more uncertain.

But, they had a plan. It was a rocky one, but now that they had something to shoot for, Connor was just a little less on edge. Folding the map back into his pocket, he grabbed up his bag again, and directed them off of the road and into the forest. Or at least, what was left of it. It wasn’t long before they were just as exposed as they had been on the road.

For some time, it was peaceful. The thick humidity of the air was uncomfortable at best, but by this point they were so used to it, it was easy to distract themselves from. After an hour they eventually stopped to break, with Murphy easing himself to the ground and rummaging in his bag for water, and Connor making himself scarce for a minute or two, returning to a shit-eating smirk from his twin. Raising a brow at him, Connor caught the bottle of water he was thrown with ease.

“The fuck’re you grinnin’ about?”

“You were gone an awful long time for a piss.”

“What? You timin’ me now? If y’want I can take seconds off of me best time an’ jus’ aim for your shoes when nature calls”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’ – you wanna run off and have a quick wank behind the tree, s’all good with me. Bit unfortunate if a walker came an’ gave you a reach around though-”

He earned a brotherly clout around the head for that, and as he was helped to his feet, a hard noogie for good measure until he managed to wriggle himself free. Pointing at him with a half-hearted attempt at a serious expression, Connor tutted his tongue against his teeth.

“You’re a filthy little devil, Murphy Macmanus. Were y’raised in a fuckin’ barn?”

“Same barn as you”

“Mark my words, next church we find, I’m tyin’ you to one of the fuckin’ pews and goin’ on my merry way.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye. I’ll bet I’ll even be able to find some stupid fuckin’ rope t’do it with”

Rubbing his scalp, Murphy just sniggered along with the remainder of the joke, and Connor alongside it. With a shake of the head, he’d knelt down and closed up both of their bags, hoisting both on either shoulder before Murphy could argue.

“Come on. We’ve got some ways ahead before we get to our next stop. Hope you’re in the mood for hikin’”

“Y’don’t have to take mine – I’ve got it, I’m fuckin’ fine”

“Yeah, and I’m fuckin’ fine with both. Go on, get movin’”

Rolling his eyes, Murphy held up his hands in defeat as they started off once again, with one tentatively going to the disturbed wound across his front, the skin around it sore to the touch and sensitive to movement. Every slight pull and stretch brought another bolt of painful discomfort, but it was easy enough by now to mask.

Eventually, he managed to get his bag back, relieving his brother of some of the load, and for the next few hours, things were, for once, okay. They stopped only when they needed to, but both could happily admit it made a nice change to be walking instead of being crammed into a car for hours on end. They came across the occasional walker, but they were dealt with easily enough – that is, until they began to pass houses with more frequency – and as a result, encounter more walkers. Gun fire would only draw more out, but when they found themselves running from a gathering herd, sweating pouring down their foreheads and hearts pulsing with urgency, their lack of ammunition really bit down hard. It only took a second for Murphy to start to lag behind and for the chain link fence to slowly jolt into view, but that was all Connor needed for a new, improvised plan to take form. Grabbing a fistful of Murphy’s shirt, he pulled him along as he headed for the fence.

One bag flew over the top with ease, landing hard on the other side, nearly crushed by the second as it came to rest only inches away. Then came the harder part. Bending down a little, Connor cupped his hands, creating a foothold. When Murphy looked back at the rapidly advancing horde, Connor shouted something at him, though in the heat and the adrenaline of the moment, Murphy couldn’t have recalled what he’d said. One moment he was on the same side as his brother, the next he was clinging to the fence for dear life and being pushed up as far as Connor could reach. He landed awkwardly and heavily, but awarded himself no time to check for other injuries, as Connor was now climbing as best he could, unaided. They’d been like monkeys when they were kids, climbing everything they could, scrambling over walls and scraping their knees in the process, spraining ankles and help each other limp home, depending on whose turn it was to injure themselves.

Only, this time, Connor wasn’t scrambling over the top with ease, nor was he scaling the fence itself like it was nothing. This time he’d barely managed to get high enough to be out of reach before the greying, rotting hands were grasping for his legs like ghosts snatching for their turn at the Ouija board. And then just like that, he went from being out of reach, to slipping enough for one walker to grab at his boot, and begin to drag him down.

“Murph’-!”

No sooner had his brother’s name been yelled in desperation was Murphy pushing a hand through the chain links, only long enough to pull the walker closer and plunge his knife straight through the creature’s eye, only stopping when the hilt hit bone. A moment later, and Connor was on the ground on his side of the fence, shifting away from the decrepit and pitiful faces pressed up hard against the mesh. Even from where he was standing a few feet away, Murphy could hear him breathing, loud and rasping and frantic, almost matching the frenzy that was now his heartbeat.

Helping him up, Murphy gave his cheek a firm pat, fixing him with the look he was used to being on the receiving end of.

“You a’right?”

With a glance back at the fence, Connor nodded. “Aye…fuckin’ golden”

“Any scratches?”

“No, don’t think so”

“Well check, ‘cause we need t’get outta the open. That fence doesn’t look like it could keep anythin’ out much longer”

“I’m alright – come on”

Giving themselves a second longer to catch their breath, soon both bags were being slung over shoulders and the brothers were making their way into the house that the fencing surrounded. Surprisingly, the backdoor came open with little effort, and just like that, it was being closed behind them. Flicking his torch over the boards that blocked out the glass of the door, Connor raised his brows.

“Shoddy work…”

“Bitch about the DIY shit when we know we’re not alone.” Murphy muttered with a roll of the eyes, smirking to himself when Connor shrugged.

“Just sayin’”

 

Given their experience with the last house they picked out, it was something of a relief to both when they saw the state of the place; not to say it was a wreck, but rather it simply looked lived in. Small candles were placed in the hallway, not designed to give off much light, but enough for them to save their torch batteries once nightfall came and they could light them. Connor could feel himself calming down much quicker now that they were inside somewhere, although he knew that he’d feel 100% when he knew that door was secured properly. As he made a move towards the first door, Murphy went on further. It was a small house, only one floor, which meant it’d take half the time to clear out and less work to board up. As he went, listening with every step, he took note of the photographs on the wall. A large family lived here, by the looks of things – four kids, two mothers, and a large Doberman, apparently. While he liked dogs, Murphy found himself hoping he wouldn’t run into one right now – especially not one that size. The rest of the pictures illustrated a happy and content life, one that made the Irishman hope they’d made it out safely – and then when he caught the second reflection in the glass of the eldest son’s graduation photo, made him wish that they’d made it out safely any place _but_ here.

Back in the kitchen, there was thankfully no serial killer vibe. There wasn’t a lot of food, but Connor didn’t have long to feel disappointed. In the crisp quiet they’d done their best to maintain, the sudden sound of hushed voices and the sound of a scuffle had Connor moving through to the next room, where he was met halfway by his brother stumbling to the floor, and the barrel of a rife coming to rest at the hollow of his throat. No sooner had Connor’s own weapon come up did the homeowner. The woman who had Murphy pinned didn’t take her eyes off of him as she spoke, voice hard and steely. A real no-nonsense type, crowned with a mane of black hair tied back, with skin nearly the same shade and an accent just as thick.

“Take out the piece, and throw it over there. Do it now or I blow your head off.”

“Y’don’t wanna do that, lady” Connor said steadily, giving his brother a short nod to do as asked. “We don’t want trouble. Jus’ came in here lookin’ for shelter”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what y’came here for. You lads brought a whole herd of those bloody things right to our doorstep! Now drop your guns, both of yous. I mean it.”

“Not till you take yours off of him.” Replied Connor, his gun staying up. “I’ll tellin’ you the truth, we’re not here to hurt anyone. Put the gun away, and we’ll leave. Simple as that. No one has to die here.”

“Put it down.”

This time, an American voice joined the scene; another woman, around the same age as the first, this time with a smaller build and a smaller gun, now aimed at Connor. After a very long, drawn out stand-off, eventually he did as instructed, slowly crouching to place his gun on the floor, coming up with his hands raised at shoulder height.

“Belfast?”

The first woman quirked a brow at him, and narrowed her eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

“Common ground, if y’like.” With a glance from the American back to her, Connor tried to be diplomatic, despite the weapon holding his brother for a ransom it’d yet to ask for. “We’ve done what you want. Now, I’m thinkin’ it’s time for you to hold up your end.”

And after a look from her partner, eventually she did, the breath of relief from Murphy heavy and tired. Once the women had backed up a step, Connor went to help him up, muttering quickly and quietly.

“<Right out of the fucking frying pan>”

“<I hear that>”

“He’s bleeding”

All of the attention was back on Murphy now, the hand pressed to his chest now the focus of everyone in the room as the rifle was brought up as fast as it’d been dropped, almost at the same speed as Connor’s arm instinctively came up, as though that’d be enough to protect his sibling from a rifle shot.

“Christ, there’s no need-”

“Lift your shirt”

“I haven’t been fuckin’ bitten-”

“Then lift your fuckin’ shirt.”

“Christ Murph, just do it.”

And he did, only after Connor had brought his arm back down. What was left of the crude bandages and blood stained coverings either totally peeled away to reveal angry red wounds, or they’d fused to the scabs as his body had tried to heal him. Evidently, it wasn’t a sight either women had been expecting.

“Jesus…”

“This wasn’t one of them, this was done by another person, so put the fuckin’ gun down.”

“Fiona…” Placing her hand on her partner’s arm, the American woman gave her a look. A look that was fortunately enough to persuade her to lower it once again, Murphy doing the same with his shirt. After a minute or so of hushed discussion from across the room, the red head took a step towards the brothers, fixing Murphy with a semi-friendly look.

“…I can clean those up for you. They look like they could be infected.”

“What are you..? A nurse?”

“A doctor.” She corrected. “And it looks as though your friend here needs one.”

 


	56. The boys next door

“You must have made someone pretty mad to make them do this to you”

Murphy just ignored her, his frown steadfast, and only wavering when she pressed the antibacterial swabs to his cuts. Or whatever it was – he didn’t know. All he knew was that it smelled like hospital and it hurt like hell. He also knew he was probably being a total baby in retrospect, and was doing everything in his power to remain collected, even when she hit a particularly sore point. This hadn’t gone over her head; how his hands gripped the arm rests and how tense he became when she touched him, but it was something she was used to. She knew the type.

“…You don’t say much, do you?”

When Murphy just turned away, pointedly telling her he wasn’t interested, she continued, this time with a small smile.

“That other guy you’re with – he your friend? Boyfriend, perhaps..?”

That got a reaction this time, with Murphy looking at her as though she’d just sprouted a second head, practically hissing his answer so fast Connor didn’t know which to snigger at first.

“He’s me _brother_ ”

“So you do speak.” She replied with a little laugh. “I know, don’t worry - I’m just messing around. Lighten up a little, it’ll help. Trust me.”

“I’ll tell you what – I’ll lighten up when we’re done here”

“Fair enough…well, can I know your name? It’d make things easier than calling you both ‘Thing 1’ and ‘Thing 2’”

That earned her a scowl, but she got her answer from the second man, sat across the room with Fiona, who was watching them both like a prison guard.

“Connor. And he’s Murphy.”

“Aah, see? That wasn’t so hard.” Despite the look of utter disdain on her patient’s face, the doctor gave him another smile all the same, hands leaving him for a moment or two.

“Well, that’s Fiona. You can call me Gemma. Now, Murphy – most of these, they’ll heal by themselves hopefully in a week or two, if you leave them alone. But, this one, and this – they’ll both need sutures.”

Pointing out the X over his heart, and the longer laceration across his belly, Gemma looked to him for confirmation that he understood, which came as a short, almost indifferent nod. But as she got up to retrieve what she needed from the bathroom, across the way, Fiona was on her feet as well.

“No way.”

The brother’s caught each other’s eye before they went on to watch the scene continue.

“What?”

“Stitches? Are you serious, Gem?”

“It’s very likely these will get infected again if he doesn’t get them treated properly-”

“And what then? You’ll send them off with half your med kit? Or were you plannin’ on having them sleep down here? Open a B’n’B, maybe?”

When Gemma just sighed and rubbed her eyes, Fiona tried again.

 “We don’t know these guys, they broke into our _house-_ “

“You know that the rules from before don’t exactly apply anymore.” Gemma replied curtly, standing her ground. “He needs them, it won’t take long”

“It doesn’t matter how long it’ll take! The point is you don’t owe him medical attention, you don’t have to play doctor-”

“I’m not playing anything, Fi. I’m being a decent human being. We have their weapons, they’ve been cooperative so far, and he _needs_ this. Not everyone is terrible. They’re just trying to get by.”

“You can’t possibly know that”

“And you can’t know that they’re not.” Gemma shrugged, “So you’re going to have to trust me for once.”

And with that, she left the room, Fiona going to follow, but reconsidering as soon as she reached the doorway. Connor and Murphy just glanced from one another to whatever seemed to be the most interesting thing in the room – anything to avoid meeting that Medusa’s glare head on.

Sinking back into her seat, Fiona rested her head against the radiator, giving Connor a light kick a minute later as Gemma returned.

“What happened to him?”

Nodding to Murphy, she watched as Connor went to answer. She was curious, but she also wanted to know how honest they were willing to be.

“We, ah…” Glancing back to his sibling briefly, Connor scratched at Virgin Mary etched into his neck. “…We found a house to hold up in. Turns out the guy still livin’ there had a couple’a screws loose. Tied him to a chair, cut him up.”

“Christ…”

“Aye.”

“So how’d you get off scot free then?”

“My lucky day, I guess.” Said Connor after a moment, a little more quietly this time, almost guiltily as his eyes hit his hands. Fiona frowned at him, but didn’t press the matter further.

“I know he’ll say in his own way, but thank you for this. We appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Gem. She’s the one kind enough t’let you boys stay a while. If it were just up to me you’d both be out on me front lawn gettin’ your innards chewed up.”

“…Got it”

“Don’t even try t’get snarky with me. Your brother’s lucky I didn’t blow his head off the second I heard you in the house. You have any idea how hard it’s been, keepin’ this place safe?”

“Aye, I’ve got some – the backdoor was practically swingin’ open.” Holding up his hands at the venomous look she gave him, Connor just shrugged simply. “I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m startin’ to see you ‘just say’ a lot of shite.

Gemma shot her a knowing look as she got started, but rolled her eyes at the look Fiona gave her in return. Excusing himself, Connor got to his feet, and went to sit at his post, next to where Murphy was apparently doing his best not to look at what the doctor was doing. However, without anaesthetic, the process wasn’t one he would enjoy much. She’d offered him pain relief once she finished, but that didn’t interest him as much as he hoped it would. His grip on the arm rest very quickly turned his knuckles white. Placing a hand on the Celtic cross that adorned Murphy’s right forearm, Connor watched as he was stitched up, wincing every now and then when he felt his brother tense up.

You didn’t need to know Murphy that well to guess how much he disliked hospitals and anything to do with them. He didn’t know why – he just remembered Murphy being even more of a little shit than he normally was if he ever had to go to the doctors, and then being even worse if he ever needed to go in to A&E. If it was for him, he’d cringe away from needles, refuse to cooperate as long as he could. He’d count on Connor to help him find somewhere to hide, and right before their mother had enough, Connor would always talk him round.

If he was there because Connor needed treatment, however, he was quiet and withdrawn, regarding everyone in scrubs or a white coat with suspicion and distrust, staying glued to his brother’s side like a guard dog, especially when they were little. Whenever the nurse or doctor came in, he’d watch what they did, not out of curiosity or interest, but rather in the hopes that he’d see them do something to validate his wariness, to make sure that they didn’t do anything wrong, for Connor’s sake. As they’d gotten older, he’d become more stubborn about the issue. Even getting him to see the GP was a task in itself. But whenever Connor had asked him why he hated it so much, Murphy could never give him a reasonable answer.

Watching as Gemma finished up the first one, Connor gave his brother’s arm a squeeze as he took his hand back.

“You doin’ alright?”

Murphy opened his eyes long enough to just shot him a quick look, one that would only have been clearer if it was a neon sign flashing above his head; ‘what the fuck do you think?’

“He’ll be fine. Connor, I need you to be another pair of hands for me – where’s the flashlight you had before?”

“You need it?”

“Yeah – I need you to hold it for me while I do this next one.”

Doing as asked, Connor got up to get it, returning a second later and clicking it on. While she got started, he held the light steady with one hand, addressing his brother once again. Although he knew Gemma was right there, he still kept his voice as little more than a whisper.

“Come on, Murph’. It isn’t that bad.”

His reply was said through half-gritted teeth. It was obvious it was uncomfortable, but he was stubborn enough to pretend it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, you trade places with me and see how you fucking like it…how’s it lookin’?”

“I can’t lie, you’re gonna have some badass souvenirs once they’re all healed. Especially the cross – y’won’t even need your rosary after this”

He’d meant it as a joke, but in seconds it was obvious it was taken as anything but. Murphy didn’t look pissed. Just…off, all of a sudden.

 “Sorry…”

“Doesn’t matter.” Murphy said quickly, dismissively almost as he  rested his head against the chair, palming a hand down his nose and across his eyes. “Christ, what I’d do for a fucking cigarette…”

“Aye…You and me both…hey, you’ve got the exact same face on from when we were ten, getting our MMR jabs – all serious and shit”

When Murphy turned away from him with a curl of his lip, making the mistake of looking down at the stitching thread, Connor tapped him lightly once more, this time with a more reassuring tone.

 “It’ll be over before you know it-”

“He’s right, you know”

Both looked at Gemma at the same time, who didn’t return the favour right away. It was obvious enough that she was just trying to keep the mood light, hoping that if they could be on at least half-way comfortable speaking terms, things would be much easier for everyone involved.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you. You’re doing well though, only a few more minutes and I’ll be done.”

“…Thanks.”

“No problem”

A sudden thump from elsewhere in the house had all four of them looking towards the doorway, and then to their respective other halves. Without a word, Fiona got up and left the room. When Connor went to follow, Gemma stopped him.

“It’s fine. It’s not the dead knocking.”

“You sure about that?”

“Trust me. We’re okay.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, but then Murphy remembered the family photos on display in the hallway.

“Your kids back there..?”

And for a second, she paused. That was enough to tell him he was right. The rest of his stitching was completed in near silence, and once she was done, Gemma collected her things and left the room, leaving the brothers to their own devices. All that meant for the time being was Murphy getting his shirt back on, and Connor deciding how to word his next question. Switching to Irish, should their hosts decide to eavesdrop, he pushed up from his seat and wandered to the mantelpiece as he spoke, only looking around again when Murphy answered him.

“You’re gonna have to tell me eventually.”

“What?”

“What it was the old man said. Or did, or both.”

“I think it’s pretty bloody obvious what he did.”

“What he said, then. Because you haven’t been right since we left that place.”

He’d obviously struck a nerve – or at least, it was obvious to him. To anyone outside of their circle, Murphy was simply scratching his nails through his hair, with the body language of someone who was sleep deprived and fed up of being up and around.

“Yeah, well…how about I strap you down and carve you up for an hour or two, see how jolly you fucking feel after”

“You know what I mean – I’m talkin’ about the nightmares, the spacin’ out-”

“Why can’t you just leave it? Jesus, I’m okay”

“No you’re not, Murph’. Anyone can see that. If you need to, you need to get it straight in your head or fucking talk to me about it. What, did he threaten you? Say somethin’ that got to you, what?”

“What are you, a fucking shrink now?” Murphy spat back, his voice raising just a little more. Enough for it to begin to take the shape of an argument. When his brother went to retort, Murphy cut him off, tumbling back into English as though the second language would diminish his point.

“Just fucking leave it alone, Connor – I’m not talkin’ about it because there’s nothin’ to fuckin’ say. Just do me a favour and stop actin’ like my fuckin’ babysitter. I don’t need it, and I don’t need-”

When the rest of his sentence was lost to his better judgement, Murphy just looked away for a moment, inhaling deeply as the tension lingered several seconds longer. “…I’m fine, have been since we left”

“Everything okay in here..?”

Gemma and Fiona had both returned, and were stood in the doorway, looking at the two brothers uncertainly. Sharing a final look, Connor gave them both a nod.

“…Aye. Everythin’s fine.” Without looking back, he stepped towards Fiona, motioning for her to follow him. Gemma only caught half a sentence – somethin about fixing a door – before she was left alone with Murphy, who’d now sunk back down into the nearest chair and didn’t seem to notice her at all.

 

 

After some discussion between Gemma and Fiona, it was decided that the brothers could stay until Murphy’s stitches could be taken out, provided that they help in re-boarding the doors and windows, and stay out of the other rooms in the house. This clearly wasn’t everyone’s favourite idea, but it was decided. And like that, the sitting room became the brothers’ living space. Within the next few hours, they were introduced to three of the children, two of which were Fiona’s, biologically. As it turned out, the fourth had been in California, staying with friends when the epidemic had swept the nation. Gemma hadn’t heard from him since.

The days, to Connor at least, seemed to go quickly once they’d let themselves settle. He helped fix things up where they needed it. He worked with Murphy to secure the fence out back, no thanks to his idiotic attempt to scale it. And while they spoke to one another every now and then, they didn’t talk as they normally would. Murphy would just rebuff whatever Connor said, or flat out ignore him completely. It was frustrating and so aggravating, but if anything else, it was worrying to Connor.

Now on the third day of his brother not really speaking to him, Connor had resigned himself to giving Murphy the space he obviously needed. By the fourth, they’d fought again, over nothing significant. Cabin fever set in so much faster when he wasn’t somewhere familiar, and Connor knew that was the only reason why he was so restless and short tempered. While he was glad that his wounds were finally healing properly and that they had somewhere warm to sleep, being under near-constant supervision was not something Murphy was growing used to. It was obvious they weren’t wanted around, that the only reason they hadn’t been thrown out days ago was because of him and because of Gemma. He wanted to be back on the move again. He preferred the company of the open road and his brother to people he didn’t know well any day of the week.  

On the fifth day, they were given their weapons back, which helped lift his mood just a little. And on the fifth night of waking in a cold sweat, his breathing desperate and shallow, that little bit of happiness had been snuffed out to make room for the sense of rising panic in the back of his throat. The last few times Connor had tried to sit with him, he’d told him he was fine, that he just needed to left alone. Tonight, however, he hadn’t stirred. He was sound asleep, or at least he sounded as such. It was almost perfect darkness, but his brother’s snoring was undeniable.

Now, the original plan – once Murphy had gotten a hold of himself and calmed down – was to simply sit on the ground and be alone with his thoughts for a while. Let himself process everything that’d happened in the last few days, and more pressingly, what he was going to say to Connor in the morning. Because while he hated being pushed to talk about shit he didn’t want to talk about, he hated distance between them even more. It felt unnatural, and in the world they found themselves in now, familiar was suddenly a rare and wonderful thing. And in a world where families had been ripped apart by death and gore, being angry at his sibling for next to nothing felt more and more idiotic by the minute.

However, this plan was thwarted in one fell swoop when, in his attempt to quietly find somewhere to plant himself on the floor, he ended up stumbling on something in the dark, catching his balance at the last second but booting Connor in the face in the process. The entire ‘silent reflection’ idea was soon set aside, the room soon being filled with whispered curses as Connor sat up, with one hand cupped under his nose and the other swiping the air for his twin.

“Murphy what the _shit_ – it’s not fuckin’ funny you little prick, y’could’ve broken my fuckin’ nose! The fuck is wrong with you-?!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the effort of keeping it quiet making his sides ache terribly, especially when he attempted to apologise with a straight face. When Connor finally found him, he gave him a good smack around the back of the head and then some. But when it became apparent that Murphy wasn’t able to stop cackling into his hands, it wasn’t long before they were both laughing, trying desperately to stop before they woke up anyone else. Just as one of them began to calm down, the other would erupt into another suppressed fit of laughter, only made worse when Connor suddenly had to start coughing.

Eventually, the giggles subsided and their shuddering shoulders came to rest. Even the fact that they were both awake hours before dawn didn’t seem to matter all that much anymore. Opting to save the batteries in their torches, for a while the boys sat in darkness, whispering to one another for entertainment, and partly out of necessity. If they were going to have a heart-to-heart, now was as good a time as any.

“Why’re you awake, anyway..? Couldn’t sleep?”

“Had another one. Haven’t been up long”

“Christ. That’s, what? Every night since we got here?”

“S’fine…I reckon Freud would be havin’ a fuckin’ field day with me though, the shit my mind comes up with…Sorry for bein’ a dick.” Murphy added after a pause. Connor just shrugged.

“S’alright. I know y’can’t help it”

“Fuck you.”

“…Me as well. I’m sorry.”

In the darkness, Murphy opened his eyes once more and frowned in Connor’s general direction.

“For what?”

“You know what for. You’re the one who went through that shit, and I get y’don’t want me knowin’ everythin’ about it. I wouldn’t wanna fuckin’ remember…but, you’ve gotta know it’s doin’ you more harm than good, keepin’ it to yourself. Y’don’t have to tell me shit, Murph’. I just need to know that you can handle it. All this not knowin’ either way’s makin’ my job fuckin’ hard”

He was grateful it was dark, that they had no choice but just to listen to one another. It made reacting to what Connor was saying that much easier.

Finally, Murphy managed to reply.

“Do I wanna know what ‘your job’ means?”

“Makin’ sure you’re alright, you little shite. Christ knows I’ve got nothin’ else to do.”

That pulled a breathy laugh from his dark haired twin, and after a second of finding his shoulder, Connor pulled him into a hug. There was more he wanted to say, but at the risk of everything becoming just a little too sentimental, the scene was closed with an affectionate head-knock, and the order to ‘go the fuck to sleep’.

 

Of course, like most things nowadays, moments like this were unexpected, but short lived all the same. Because no more than an hour after they’d settled again, the quiet of the night was disturbed by two cars pulling up just next door, booted feet hitting the ground as crude voices carried through the air like a deadly gas.

 


	57. The things you do for family

Once the men had moved onto their next target, it didn’t take much to disturb the inhabitants. Connor was the first one of the twins to realize what was happening, and after a rough shake to get Murphy up, they were moving into the bedroom to wake up the women and their family. It quickly became apparent to the boys that this wasn’t their first time in dealing with intruders, as the family went into autopilot. The kids were silently ushered out, and all headed straight towards the back of the house. In a small side room, concealed amongst the coats and shoes and miscellaneous family belongings was a cellar door – hard to spot unless you knew what you were looking for. One by one they filed down the steps, with Fiona waiting until Gemma was safe inside before turning to Murphy, speaking so quietly she was barely audible above the noise the men were making as they tried to force their way in.

 “You’d best hurry and get your brother – once this door closes it’s not openin’ again ‘till they’re gone.”

With a nod, Murphy hurriedly straightened up and went to find Connor, though he didn’t need to look long. He was already halfway down the hall on his way to meet them.

“The fuck were you doin’?”

“There’s six of ‘em.” And just like that, the priorities shifted.

“They all armed?”

Just then, the front door swung open with a thunderous crack, accompanied by the obnoxious cheers of the men responsible. In the same moment, Murphy had pulled them both back into the side room, narrowly escaping being seen. He motioned to Fiona he was shutting them in. With no time to argue, the cellar door was locked behind her, and the boys were two against six. With the amount of noise they were making, it was a small wonder why there weren’t walkers filing in after them. But for the time being, the twins were stuck. Or at least, they were, until Connor muttered something to Murphy, leaving no time for argument as he pushed him back between the coats and jackets hanging behind him, and stepped out into the corridor, clearing his throat as he went.

All eyes hit him like darts on a bullseye, and any guns in hand were brought up, along with the beam of a torch. Raising his hands, Connor took a deep breath, and began his act.

“You fella’s lookin’ for anythin’ in particular?”

One of the men stepped forward, his face hidden by the light behind him.

“Well that depends; is this your place?”

Had he not taken notice of the photos on the wall, Connor might’ve tried to bullshit it and say yes, but it was too great a risk. Instead, as he lowered his hands, he took a slow, brave step forward.

“Nah…wandered in a few days ago, been keepin’ to myself since. You lads are the first livin’ I’ve seen in a while-”

“He talks too much.” Came one of the voices from the back, the owner tapping the first man on the shoulder. “What’re we doin’ here, Joe?”

“Relax. We’re just talking here.” Holstering his weapon, ‘Joe’ addressed Connor once again. “What’s your name?”

“Tell me yours I tell you mine.” Connor replied as lightly as he could. “Ma always told me not to talk to strangers”

Once the leader of the group chuckled at the joke, Connor knew whatever he was doing was working.

“That’s good advice; the name’s Joe.”

“Connor.”

“Good to know. So, Connor – you here alone?”

Without hesitation, he shrugged. “Aye. S’just me. Been on me own for a few days now.”

Back in the side room, Murphy was listening with bated breath, trying to work out what it was Connor was counting on him to do. Jump out at the right moment? Stay here and let him handle it? Whatever it was, he’d throttle him later once this was over.  


After a long pause, Joe waved his hand. “Put ‘em down, boys. This one’s alright.”

The rest of the group did as they were told, and Connor felt himself breathe a little easier. Joe approached and shook his hand, and began to tell him about their journey so far as the rest of the men went to settle in the living room, one of them kicking Connor’s bag out of the way without much mind as he sank down onto the couch, setting the torch at his feet. Eyeing the quilt and cushion on the floor, Joe glanced around at the rest of the stuff.

“That’s an awful lot of a shit for one man to be carrying around. You sure there’s no one else here? No one we should know about..? Because I’ve gotta tell you, I dislike liars. But some of my friends here, they really can’t stand ‘em.”

Thinking quickly, Connor did his best to feign seriousness as he hung his head for a moment.

“…I’ve only been by myself for a few days, like I said. I was travellin’ with me younger brother. Walkers got him right before we got here.”

Miraculously, the story seemed to work. And for the next hour – a very long, tense sixty minutes for the Irishman – they entertained themselves with general conversation. They’d come out here to scavenge for supplies to take back to the camp they’d set up not far from here, where the rest of their group were waiting for their return. These men lived by simple rules; no cheating, no stealing, no lying – all very easy to follow, in theory. It turned out that they’d heard about Terminus after Connor mentioned it, but didn’t believe it was still going. In their eyes, this was now survival of the fittest.

 After a pressured ‘okay’ from Connor, the other members of the group helped themselves to whatever food he and Murphy had. Leaning back into his chair, Joe narrowed his eyes at their new found companion, sizing him up almost. Trying to get a read on him. He was charismatic enough, looked as though he’d been through some shit. But then again, anyone alive nowadays had that look about them.

“What’s your plan, Connor? Where’s ‘home’ after this?”

“Probably headin’ to the coast; Savannah, maybe Jacksonville.”

The reaction was immediate, with Joe inhaling through his teeth with a dubious shake of the head.

“That whole area’s a bad move. It only gets worse the further you go, my friend. If I were you, I’d make a U-turn, head back up towards Atlanta. You wantin’ out of Georgia?”

“I hadn’t thought much past that. As long as I’m breathin’ I’m a happy man.”

“Most folks tend to stay where they know. That tells me you’re not from here.”

“I would’a thought the accent was the biggest giveaway.” Connor joked. Joe did little more than smirk. It was clear he wanted information about him and was running low on patience. He wanted to know if Connor was worth keeping with them.

“Born in Ireland, came stateside in me twenties.”

“Which city?”

“Boston.”

The truth slipped out before he could catch it. That caught several of the other’s attention as well as Joe’s.

“You’re an awful long way from home, aren’t’cha?”

“Road trip.” He replied, maybe a little too fast.  “Murphy, my brother – he wanted to take a drive, that was before everythin’ went t’shit. Ended up stranded in Atlanta, made our way from there.”

And once again, a suspenseful few seconds passed before Connor was let off the hook one more time, though that feeling of relief was quickly replaced when one of the men suddenly called out from elsewhere in the house. That could have meant anything. But the swearing and the sounds of a brief struggle were familiar enough to make set Connor’s plan alight right then and there.

“Hey, Joe-”

A second later, and Murphy was being hauled into the room, half by his hair and half by his collar, the group member’s weapon directing him any way it’s owner wished. “Look what I found, hiding in the back.”

Murphy caught his brother’s eye with ease, despite the painful angle his head was being forced back into. It was apologetic and pissed off all at once, but nothing compared to the look on Connor’s face, or on Joe’s as he approached the new found stranger.

“…I’m going to take a wild guess, and say this is the younger brother you were tellin’ us all about? Looks pretty good for a man who was ripped apart by walkers…”

Connor had nothing to say for himself. He didn’t know what these men were capable of, if they had any qualms about killing the living. He knew that by making himself known, he’d brought them both a little time, but evidently, that time had come to a very abrupt end. Eventually, Murphy’s hair was released, his head swinging forward as relief pumped through the muscles in his neck, although this was short lived as the butt of a rifle was brought up into his belly hard and fast, knocking the breath out of him as he doubled over, or at least, as far as was possible with his finder still holding onto him. Moments later, and Connor met with a similar fate, though unlike his brother, he ended up on the floor, barely able to recover before a heavy boot connected with his chest, then his stomach, then anywhere else that wasn’t immediately being protected. His brother’s yells for them to stop fell on deaf ears, or at least they seemed to, until the assault was being called off almost as fast as it’d begun. Crouching next to him, Joe roughly rolled him onto his back, watching him catch his breath through the blood as he spoke.

“What did I tell you before? No lyin’. It’s a very simple rule to follow, I think. And I like you, Connor. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders-”

“Leave him the fuck alone”

With a glance cast back to Murphy, Joe continued. “Unfortunately, though…we can’t have this. One man starts lyin’ and everythin’ falls apart”

With a sudden lurch forward, Murphy managed to kick out, landing a decent blow to the back of Joe’s head. “Fuckin’ look at me when I’m talkin’, motherfucker - Just take whatever the fuck you want and get out”

Pushing himself to his feet, Joe turned to face Murphy fully. He was much angrier than his brother, far more energetic, more emotional. With a smirk, he touched the spot Murphy had managed to get.

“…Or what?”

 Murphy’s reply was started off with a well-aimed shot of spit to the face, the glob landing square on the cheek. “Or I shove my foot so far down your throat you’ll be shittin’ rubber for a week-”

He paid for that with a beating of his own, but whether he planned it or not, it gave Connor several precious seconds to grab his gun out from under the couch - where he’d stowed it while he slept – and put a bullet in two of the group member’s thighs. Not enough to be fatal necessarily, but enough to get them off his brother and in turn, give him enough time to reach for his own weapon.  Murphy, on the other hand, wasted no time in shooting to kill, the man who’d dragged him out of hiding soon succumbing the shot that had passed through his chest. It all happened so quickly for Murphy, but for Connor, it all went in slow motion. He’d gotten to his feet and he’d pulled Murphy out of the fray, his left hand hoisting him to his feet and keeping it on him, while the other moved his gun from left to right, keeping the last three men at bay for the time being. They were outnumbered still, but Connor liked these chances better.

“This was…unfortunate, Connor. I was close to offerin’ you a place with us. You could have been a good addition.”

“Aye, well – I’m not much of a team player” He replied coldly. “Get out now and we’ll let’cha live.”

Joe just laughed at that; a grating, insincere sound that put them both on edge.

“That’s very funny! Because you’ve already killed one of my guys, and badly injured two more – and you still think you’re the ones in a position to call the shots..? That’s a good one, boys. Really.”

Had it not been for the sudden banging noise coming from the back of the house, the brother’s may well have lost this particular argument. But as it stood, the sound made both of the remaining group member’s turn their heads towards the door – not for more than a second, but the boys only needed that long to aim again and shoot, this time both of them falling like glass bottles at a shooting range.

The shooting was over quickly. Joe met with a similar fate, a shot passing through his chest and sending him crashing to the floor, joining his fallen friends.

He would have earned himself another bullet for good measure, had it not been for Connor’s gun dropping to the ground a second later, blood saturating his shirt so fast he could barely react before he too mirrored the rest of the barely-breathing bodies that littered the room.


	58. Always gold

They’d been in the old barn when it’d happened.

The closest house to theirs belonged to an elderly couple, who knew that the MacManus brothers were mischievous, but not malicious. The couple had known their mother for years, and so now that the two were old enough to look out for each other and they were too old to supervise them, they were content to watch TV in their living room and let them do as they pleased. As long as they weren’t trashing the place or setting the whole thing on fire, the twins were left alone.

Both of the boys knew the barn inside out, or thereabouts – knew the best hiding spots, the best vantage points from the top level to spy on the other when they were looking for them. And yet every time they wandered in, they’d always find new places to wriggle into, new crooks and crannies to slip inside and conceal themselves from view, and better places to hang blankets from to make forts and hide outs. Their initials had been carved into the wall years ago, in their favourite hiding spot, the letters big and messy, but serving their purpose.

This particular afternoon, with the sky swirling storm warning black and the wind chilling to the bone, the brother’s had come home to a message from their mother on the answering machine, telling them she’d be home late, and that they were to stay in and do their chores. There was probably something about them doing their homework and going to bed before she got back, but it was lost beneath muddy shoes thumping dirt up the stairs as they hurriedly got changed out of their school uniforms. Seeing Connor flop down onto his belly to rummage under his bed, Murphy gracelessly threw his missing trainer at him, laughing as he pulled his hoodie over his head. With both shoes on, Connor crossed the room and gave him a shove.

“That’s my hoodie, Murph’ – you’re such a little shite”

“Nah, this one’s mine – see? S’got a hole right here where I ripped it the other week”

“Oh yeah…fuck that then, you can keep it”

It’d be a few years before their mother gave up on punishing them for swearing, but of course, when she wasn’t in hearing distance, it was as if they’d never been taught otherwise. Not that she was a particularly good influence in that respect; she swore more than anyone they’d ever met.

“You wanna bring both bags, or just yours?”

“Why mine? We always bring mine”

“Because mine still stinks, no thanks to you”

Connor just gave a gap-toothed grinned at the memory, earning him an elbow to the ribs; apparently, accidentally letting off a fart bomb and stashing it in your brother’s backpack in order to cover your tracks is not only against several school rules, but is also one of the funniest things you can do to your sibling.

By the time they were out of the house, it was Connor who’d been given their food and their comics to carry. And by the time they’d arrived at their destination, both were half soaked with rain that’d waited until they were too far to turn back before falling.

Working the door open, the boys let themselves into the barn, switching on whatever lights still worked. They were flickering like mad and did little more than cast more shadows around the place, but it was enough to let the twins find the ladder, and make their way to the first level. Despite the age of the place, it was surprisingly warm as they settled in, pulling off their coats and emptying Connor’s bag, any mice that’d been nearby scattering into far off corners.

For the first hour or two, they were fine – alternating between reading whatever magazines and comics they’d brought with them, and mindlessly scratching shapes and words into the floor, talking and discussing the things that only ten year olds could find interesting or controversial. He liked talking about things with brother, simply because he seemed to know so much. Whenever Connor managed to answer his questions with confidence, Murphy always found himself amazed at how his brother knew so much about a world neither of them had had the chance to explore yet. Even when the answers sounded farfetched, he kind of always just went along with it.

For instance, this afternoon he’d posed the question - ‘Hey - what d’you reckon would happen if we were in a freak accident and they had to join us together to save us?’ – And Connor, in all his young wisdom, had thought for a moment before replying; ‘Well, they’d have to sew us up – but it’d be good, because if one of us got hurt, it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’d heal twice as fast and we’d have extra blood and shit. We’d be like the fuckin’ X-Men.’

It was astounding to Murphy, and even though part of him wanted to call bullshit, it was quickly suppressed by the rest of him that suddenly got to thinking of what mutant powers he’d want. And as a result, a new topic was born. They could happily talk like this all evening, and had it not been for Connor checking the time, they probably would have. They only had a few hours before their mother was due home. Scoffing the remainder of the packet of M’n’Ms, Murphy scrunched the wrapper into his pocket as he swung down onto the ladder, and began the descent.

“Oi! You not gonna help clean this shit up?”

“Nah – I think you’ve got it covered” He called back. Rolling his eyes, Connor crouched down to fill his bag, when Murphy suddenly let out a yell, followed by a thud and a sickening crack. When he grasped at the edge to look down, he saw Murphy crumpled on his side a foot or so away from the bottom rung of the ladder.

“Murph’! Hey! You okay?!”

When he didn’t get a reply, he zipped the bag half-shut and dropped it down to the ground before climbing down himself in double time. Kneeling next to his brother, Connor tried again, only now realizing that Murphy’s hand was bleeding badly. The rise of panic was clear in the crack in his voice as he tried getting a response out of the other.

“Shit…Murph’, come on, it’s okay – come on, wake up, please don’t be dead.”

In actual fact, Murphy was only unresponsive for a few seconds after falling, but to Connor it’d felt like minutes, although when he did finally come around, he had no idea what to do. Between the open wound across his palm and the way he was holding his arm and crying, Connor could only comfort him as best he could, and try to calm him down. While there wasn’t any bone sticking out of the skin like they did in horror films, his forearm was definitely an awkward shape, and looked unimaginably painful. If he tried to see it better, Murphy would flinch it away, telling him in a tearful panic not to touch it. Trying to remember what he should do, he grabbed one of the coats out of the backpack and wrapped it around his brother’s shoulders, before discarding his hoodie long enough to pull his T-Shirt off.

“Murph’ – hey, Murphy, come on. You’re okay, you’re gonna be fine. I need your hand, okay? Give me your hand”

“No-”

“I know it hurts, okay – but I need you to give it to me”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“You’ve gotta cover it with somethin’, to stop the bleedin’-” When he was met with wide eyed refusal, Connor tried again.  “Trust me, Murph’ – that’s what you do. I saw it on ‘Casualty’ one time.”

Eventually, Murphy did as he was asked, hesitantly taking his hand away from his injured arm, leaving a thick, bloody handprint behind. The throbbing sting of the cut only made him cry more as Connor took his hand, but once he had managed to wrap it up and pull his hoodie back on, he was wiping Murphy’s face with his cuffs and tugging little strands of straw out of his hair, talking to him gently and reassuringly all the while until Murphy had begun to quieten down. And soon after, Connor was putting his backpack on, and helping his twin to his feet. Despite the fact he was still shaking a little and was obviously still in pain, he was already trying to cover it up, trying to joke about it and attempting to make out that he was only crying because of the shock and not from how much it hurt.

 Once their mother had pulled up to the hospital and run inside to find her sons, the

 

They got the scolding of their life on their way to A&E, and again when they got home. They’d both nodded their understanding at all the right moments, and gotten up in guilty silence when they were excused. It hadn’t felt great, being told off – but what made it better for Connor was remembering how nice the doctor had been to them both. How he’d been told he did a good job looking after his brother, although it hadn’t felt that way at first. And what made it worth it for Murphy was the cast he was put in, and how much attention it got him at school the next day. The story he eventually came up with was that he’d bravely rescued a cat from a tree, and he’d lost his footing on the way down – somehow that was more impressively than cutting his hand on a nail and falling off a ladder, but either way, the other boys were impressed and the girls for the most part thought the world of him. The fame was short lived, but it worked its magic all the same.

 

X

 

“Jesus H. Christ…Would y’look at the state of this place? You boys are here for less than a week and already you’ve gotten blood everywhere and left bodies left right and fuckin’ centre.”

From across the room, the brother’s both turned to Fiona, with pretty much the exact same deadpan expression.

“A’right, I hear you. Next time bandits come in here lookin’ t’rob you or kill you, me an’ Murph’? We’ll take the first shift the cellar. See how long you last.”

“Longer than you boys, I’ll tell you that.” With a weary sigh, she took a cue from Gemma, and folded her arms loosely across her chest as she stepped towards them.

“…How’s the arm?”

“Well, I took a fuckin’ bullet, so I’m gonna say…not wonderful.” Connor replied, inhaling sharply as Murphy applied more pressure to the wound on Gemma’s orders.

“Well, either way…thank you. Both of yous. Despite the body count, we’re all grateful for what y’did.”

Connor just gave her a nod, more concerned with the pain he was in than anything else, though he did manage a question a moment later.

“How’re the kids..?”

She nodded, appreciative of the concern. “Fine. A little freaked out by the shootin’, but for some reason they like you two. They’re glad you’re both in one piece, more or less.”

“Alright – let me see that.” Gemma said, leaning over Connor and gently moving Murphy’s hands and the gauze. “Okay, that’s a little better. Keep the pressure on, I’ll go and see what we have in the way of pain meds.”

“You’re a Saint, doc.”

She just smiled. “Don’t say that yet; I might not have anything for you.”

Once Gemma had excused herself, Murphy waited until she’d taken Fiona with her and they were alone before speaking, his tone steady and serious. “…You shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“Gonna have to narrow it down for me, Murph’…”

“He was aiming for me.”

“I know.” Smirking half-heartedly to himself, Connor opened his eyes, one of which was already horribly swollen from the beating he’d been subjected to.

“Why d’you think I moved..?”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot” Connor’s expression only made Murphy more angry with him. “You’re fuckin’ lucky it only got your arm – what if it’d hit you in the chest, or the head-”

“Please…he couldn’t aim for shit”

“I’m not fuckin’ around, Connor-”

“Good. Because neither am I.” He replied sharply, finally looking at his twin with a look just as stern.

“You’re not gonna try an’ convince me not to do somethin’ like this again, right..? Because if that’s your plan here Murph’, you’re wastin’ your breath”

“It’s like you don’t care - You could’ve been killed!”

“Yeah, I could have. But guess what? If I hadn’t moved and taken it? You’d be on the floor, dead like the rest of these assholes, and we wouldn’t be on the fuckin’ sofa havin’ this little discussion _._ I’d do it again for you in a heartbeat, Murphy - that’s just how it is. So stop the pity party, shut your trap and keep the pressure on. I don’t wanna bleed out after all that.”

For once, Murphy didn’t have anything else to say. None of it was anything he didn’t already know. He knew he probably wouldn’t have escaped so lightly, and he knew telling Connor not to try it again would be pointless. But in all honesty, when he’d realized what had happened, the chivalrous promise that they’d protect each other whatever the cost was suddenly so flawed and cheap. He didn’t want to live if it meant Connor had to die to make it happen, and although it quickly became obvious that it wasn’t a fatal injury, there was still that hollow feeling that deepened by the second where he had to think to himself; ‘This is it. We made it this far but this is it’

“Younger brother…”

Not bothering to open his eyes right away, Connor just frowned a little.

“Hm?”

“You called me your younger brother. Back there.”

Finally, the two smiled at each other, and that smirk becoming a cringe of pain when Connor tried to shrug.

“Come on, Murph’…we both know it’s true. You’re the baby, always have been”

“Fuck you, man. We don’t know shit.”

“Aye, I know…I know. Christ, this fuckin’ hurts. I don’t remember it hurtin’ like this last time”

“Don’t remind me…I couldn’t look at irons for a fuckin’ week after that.”

“I’ll tell y’somethin’, you look like they used one on you earlier; is your nose broken?”

Murphy just shrugged. “Don’t think so. Yours probably is though. Such a shame – you had such a pretty face before.”

Letting out a short laugh, the conversation as Gemma returned, unfortunately empty handed. That soon wiped the playfulness out of Connor’s expression, but he kept up appearances well enough. Once the bleeding had subsided a deal more, she began working on patching him up. As far as bullet injuries went, he’d been miraculously lucky. While it’d be incredibly painful for some time, the shot hadn’t hit any bone. Had it hit him further in towards his collar bone, or if it’d been further up and hit his shoulder, things could have been much worse. As she worked, she made Murphy watch and listen, teaching him what to do if it happened to either of them again. He paid attention, despite his brother’s death-grip on his arm and the sounds he was making as he tried to keep still. Once Connor was cleaned up, once again Murphy was taking off his shirt in order for Gemma to inspect his stitches.

“You know Doc - you should ask a man to dinner before makin’ him strip for you. S’only polite’”

Turning to give Connor an apologetic smile, Gemma raised a brow at Murphy as she went back to what she was doing.

“Keep dreaming, boys. Maybe if you wish hard enough, you’ll wake up one day with the right equipment. Until then, I’m happily taken.”

All she got in response was a snort of laughter from the bedroom.

 

 


	59. While it lasts

Despite her original – and understandable – wariness about having the twins stay in the house, the days following the home invasion were far more at ease for Fiona. Gemma liked them, and when they’d eventually let them associate more with the kids, she had to admit that she’d been happy they’d been around when the men had broken in. Of course she was prepared to defend her family without hesitation, and although she felt bad they’d gotten hurt, it’d kept her and her loved ones safe, and had proven that the Irishmen weren’t as terrible as she first thought.

As for the brothers, they certainly hadn’t intended to stay in one place for so long. But their need for medical attention had other plans for them. Gemma would watch as Murphy changed his brother’s dressings, making sure he did everything correctly. They’d play cards with Fiona’s twin sons, while the youngest – a girl named Ella – watched over Connor’s shoulder, trying to follow as he whispered the rules to her along the way. For a few days, things settled, and they were nice. There wasn’t a lot of food to go around, but they all managed to distract themselves from the pangs of hunger that came up every now and then. They’d exchange stories about where they came from, or at least, the two women did. If they were asked, Murphy would leave the talking to Connor, who would just deflect, or skilfully change the topic.

Early one morning, Murphy was found sitting out on the back step, apparently lost in thought until Fiona sat down next to him, gently closing the door as she went.

“You’re up early.”

“Aye. You too.”

“I’m always up this time. Force of habit.”

For a while, they just sat together, enjoying the cool air and the blissful quiet, and trying not to look out towards where the bodies of six men were buried in shallow graves beyond the fence.

“Looks sore.” Circling a finger around her face, she examined his bruises from where she sat. “How’re you feelin’?”

“It’s fine…I’ve had worse.”

“Bar fights?”

“That obvious?”

Matching his smirk, she pushed her bare feet down into the grass, toes curling until they hit dirt.

“D’you miss home much? Ireland, I mean?”

“Sometimes” Murphy replied, scratching at the beard that made itself more and more apparent by the day. “You?”

“Aye…more than I thought I would. Now, I know you’re both Southern boys – you goin’ to give me more of a hint than that?”

“Nah. S’more fun it you guess”

“Roscrea?”

“Nah”

“Galway? Limerick?”

“Kilkenny.” He finally corrected her.

“Nice place…what brought you two stateside then?”

It was so long ago now, Murphy couldn’t remember if they’d even had a specific reason for moving out to America.

“The American dream, what else?”

With a playful whack to the arm, she tried again.

“Connor mentioned you lived in Boston.”

“Aye. Moved out here when we were twenty somethin’.”

“Boston’s a bit of a way from here. What brought you down to Georgia..?”

The pause that followed her question was practically tangible as Murphy tried to remember what it was Connor had said before. Fortunately for him, Fiona let him off the hook, speaking again as she raked her fingers through her mass of hair.

“Don’t worry about it. Y’don’t have to answer.”

“What about you..?”

“Me?” Smiling, she nodded back towards the house. “Gemma. She was in Belfast with friends, we met in a pub one night, and it all went from there.”

“Were you married before..?”

She shook her head with a snort of laughter. “No, Christ no. I was with pregnant with the boys when he proposed, but that sort’a commitment isn’t for everyone. Which I’m sure you’re fascinated to know about”

“I asked I guess” Murphy said with a shrug, resting his hands around the back of his neck. It was a couple of minutes before Fiona asked him anything else again, though this time, the question was presented with the click of a lighter, and the first fumes of a cigarette. Murphy just watched with pure envy as she took a long drag from it, exhaling so slowly he was sure she was doing it to torment him – that is, until she handed it to him.

“This is the longest a pack of twenty’s lasted me, I’ll tell you that much…one fag every once in a while. Does wonders.”

When she caught sight of the expression on his face, Fiona couldn’t help but laugh.

“Christ, y’look like you’re gettin’ head for the first time. Better give me that back before you eat the bloody thing”

And for the first time in a while, Murphy actually laughed as he handed it back. They talked more as they shared it, though it soon came back to relationships. Fiona’s sexuality was the topic for a while, but her curiosity quickly made Murphy the defendant.

“So – you got anyone special? Or did you, before all this..?”

When he shook his head with a muttered, but honest ‘no’, she couldn’t help but look surprised.

The frown she got in response told her everything she needed to know. “Hey, no judgement. I’m the last person to judge about sexualities fuckin’ someone about-”

“Christ, I’m not fuckin’ gay. Am I givin’ off a fuckin’ vibe or somethin’?”

“Ohh, no – don’t you worry, lad. Your ‘vibes’ are strictly hetero – straight as an arrow. Christ, ease up will you?”

“Sorry…I don’t have a problem with all that or anythin’-”

“It’s alright, you’re good.”

He was an odd one, Murphy. So quick to clam up and get defensive, Fiona couldn’t help but wonder if he’d only just started acting like this, or if the co-dependence he seemed to share with his brother had been slowly nurtured over their lifetimes.

Handing the cigarette back as a peace offering, she only gave him a glance every few minutes, enjoying the sunrise while she could.

“…He’s a good one, your brother. You’re lucky.”

Murphy remained silent as he gave her back the smoke.

“I’ve noticed somethin’ while you’ve both been here.” Taking a drag, she paused her comment to enjoy the heat and taste that filled her mouth, and the thin curls of smoke that filled her nose. “Every time he talks, you look at ‘im. Every time he gets up to go anywhere, you look at ‘im. Gemma needs to check him over? You’re watchin’ her like a damn guard dog.”

“What’s your point?”

“He got shot for you, or close enough. He was alone with those assholes the other day for over an hour, not wantin’ you t’get in the middle of it. The way he acted when you first got here…my boys are identical twins and they’re not nearly as close as you two are. My point is, if I was you two? I’d enjoy what you’ve got. Fuckin’ treasure it. Because if you’ve got someone willin’ to die for you, and you’re willin’ to do the same? That sorta shit practically doesn’t exist nowadays. Hell, it hardly existed before all this went t’hell.”

“You’d die for your kids”

“Aye, of course I would – but that’s different to what I’m talkin’ about.”

Murphy frowned at that, a little in confusion and a little in uncertainty as to what he should say.

“…He’s just my brother.”

“I think you’re both more than that – and no, not in a weird way, before you look at me like that again. That’s not what I’m sayin’, I’m talkin’ strictly platonically. You’ve spent your whole lives together. You know each other completely, inside out, can read each other like books. I’m simply suggestin’ you to cherish it while it lasts.”

Giving him the last of the cigarette, she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed herself to her feet.

“Like I said. My boys are brothers, and they get on, sure. But you and Connor? That’s rare.”

 

x

 

 

It took all of five minutes after Connor woke up for him to look round at his brother with a glare of disbelief.

“You smell like smoke.”

Looking up from the old magazine he’d found, Murphy shrugged.

“And?”

“And, that was our last one! Could’a woken me up, y’prick. I’ve been dyin’ for one”

“Fiona had one, we shared it. Don’t get your panties in a fuckin’ bunch.”

Not the answer he’d been expecting. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Connor sat up, stretching out the stiffness from his back. It had been his turn on the floor, and even though it’d only been a few hours, every bone ached.

“Other than that, you know what I want right now..? What I’m _cravin’_ , right fuckin’ now?”

“A dick in the ass?” Murphy said dryly, turning the page.

“Now that’s just unnecessary.” Clouting him round the head as he stood up, Connor dodged the wayward foot that came out to kick him. “I was gonna say coffee. Not the crappy instant shit, but really good, strong coffee…”

Looking up once more, Murphy pretended to consider the thought, his reply dripping with brotherly sarcasm. “You know, I think there’s a Starbucks right on the corner. Fancy gettin’ me somethin’ while you’re out?”

“What crawled up your ass and died? Christ, you’re the one who’s had a fuckin’ fix in the last few hours.”

Murphy just sniggered as he batted Connor’s hand away from him as he went for him a second time.

“I’m hearing a lot about asses in here. Do I need to remind you boys this is a communal area?”

Nodding a little sheepishly, the brothers offered a ‘good morning’ as Gemma came further into the room.

“At ease, gentlemen. But, while I love a good ass myself, I’d appreciate it if you boys kept the foul language to a minimum? Ella’s awake.”

“No problem.”

“Much appreciated. Murphy - once I’ve woken up a little more, I want to take another look at your stitches. They should be ready to come out in a day or two. Have they been sore, anything like that?”

“Nah. They’re good.”

“Good. And your arm?” Looking at Connor as she pulled her hair back, Gemma nodded to the bandage under his shirt sleeve. “Any problems?”

“Still hurts like a- like hell.” He corrected quickly. “But nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“I’m sure.”

“Trust me. We’ve had way worse. This here? Just a scratch.”

“I believe you.” As she headed into the kitchen, she cocked a brow at Murphy, catching his eye but not slowing down as she spoke.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice the other scars you’ve got.”

The boys just glanced at each other.

“Makes a girl wonder what you boys spent your time doing before all this.”

 

x

 

It was another three days before Murphy had his stitches out. There were scars, but compared to how they’d looked before they’d come to this house, he was less inclined to complain. As they were removed, both boys watched in morbid fascination and curiosity, like kids in a science lesson watching an animal dissection.

After that, their creased and abused map was unfolded across the kitchen table. Connor marked out roughly where they’d been and where they were now, as well as their possible routes when they left the family in the very near future. As much as they appreciated the hospitality, the brothers were beginning to get restless, the feeling of overstaying their welcome starting to set in. Reading it as best he could from the opposite side of the table, Murphy rapped on one particular part with his knuckle.

“Terminus was round here, right?”

Frowning a little, Connor nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Murphy didn’t need to say anything – the look on his face said it all.

“I thought we were on the same page with that? You sayin’ you wanna head up there now?”

“Jus’ puttin’ it out there. Stayin’ here’s been great an’ all, but what if it’s legit, Conn?”

“It could be a complete waste of time”

“Or it might not be – fuck, you know things are messy when _I’m_ the one bein’ the fuckin’ optimist. Look, I know you wanna head to the coast, but we’ve got no reason to go there – it was just the plan because we needed one when we left the prison-”

“Keep your voice down” Connor warned. Even in a world with vastly different rules, letting people know you were a criminal was near the top of the list of stupid things they could do. If they ever needed help, they’d be relying on the trust of strangers, and doing time didn’t do much to help in that respect. Still, Murphy continued, not bothering to lower his voice as he spoke.

“Headin’ back up to this place could be a shot at somethin’. If it’s nothing, or burned to shit or overrun, then we tried. We make a new plan. Find someplace else. Hell, we could even plan a real fuckin’ road trip and head back to Boston, see how well they’re doin’ up there.”

Palming a hand down his face, Connor looked down at the map once more, trailing his eyes from Aldora back to where Murphy had pointed out.

“That’s a long drive, Murph’ – even longer walk. It’d be risky.”

“Everythin’s risky now. Stayin’ put is risky, drivin’, walkin’, sleepin’ – if it’s what it says it is, then it’d be worth all that.”

“’If’ bein’ the operative word here…” With a sigh, he gave a short couple of nods. “Alright. New plan, then. On one condition.”

Murphy shrugged. “What?”

“We go to Barnesville from here; we’re outta practically everythin’ and we’ll need more supplies if we’re gonna do this. We head there today, find someplace to stay the night, and head off again first thing.”

“Aye. Sounds good.”

  
x

 

Saying goodbye was easier than they’d anticipated, though there wasn’t any real way of saying ‘thank you’ that they could come up with that’d express how grateful they were. While Connor crouched down to explain to the little girl looking up at him where they were going, Fiona pulled Murphy into a somewhat awkward hug. Connor went without saying, and friends close enough to be in their circle were another, but the intimidating older woman from Belfast with the sharp, fortune-teller eyes and the raspy voice, who made her introduction by pointing a gun at his neck was definitely in a different league when it came to hugging.

“Remember what I said, a’right? You boys look after yourselves”

“Aye…you two as well.”

 

x

 

 It wasn’t long after that that they were on their way, with their map folded dutifully into Connors jeans pocket and a list of things to look out for in the Pharmacy in town. While he was healing well, he wasn’t out of the woods yet, and despite the small amount Gemma had insisted they take with them, it wouldn’t last him more than two days at a stretch.

Scratching at his cheek, Connor finally interrupted the peace and quiet, with Murphy smirking in agreement a moment later.

“I know what else I’m lookin’ for when we get there…a fuckin’ razor. I feel like a fuckin’ bum...”

“I’m inclined to agree – I don’t know, I reckon y’suit it. You’re finally startin’ to look like Macho Murph’-”

“I don’t need a fuckin’ beard to kick your ass”

“Oh yeah, y’think so?”

“I fuckin’ know so”

 

 

 


	60. The Three Leaf Clover

For the majority of the journey, the boys were left alone. Any walkers they came across were put down in record time, leaving a macabre trail of corpses along behind them as they followed the railroad tracks towards their destination. Taking a train back up to Atlanta was something both of them wished was possible, but as it stood, the only sounds that they had for a soundtrack were their own footfalls crunching into the gravel, and the wind cherry picking leaves from branches. It was peaceful, in its own way – if that was even the right word for it. Knowing that that peace could be shattered at any moment by a walker or by another survivor meant it was a tense feeling of ease.

But, for once, both brothers felt much better than they had in a while. Sure, Connor’s arm still ached something chronic, as well as the rest of him thanks to the bruising that stained his flesh like purple ink, but the virus they’d both caught at the prison was practically gone without a trace. After having somewhere warm to sleep – somewhere more secure than a car – they both had far more energy, and having more food, even if only a little more, had worked wonders. Their moods were up, which meant a lot in terms of making the time go faster. They felt like joking around and they enjoyed the banter they shared. Just smiling and laughing made them feel better. At one point, they’d become so wrapped up in their conversation, they only just realized that they’d reached Barnesville.

The first few places were completely burned out, with the first on the corner blackened by a fire that had either spread to the adjacent building, or that one had simply met the same fate. So they carried on, Connor taking out the paper Gemma had given him.

“Carter’s – that’s the pharmacy we’re lookin’ for.”

“Better keep an eye out then. You reckon there’ll be anythin’ left..?”

“Only one way to find out…”

The further they ventured into the city, the damage and death became more and more apparent. The stores themselves, if they hadn’t had their windows smashed in, were almost quaint looking, but the mood of the place was brought crashing down by the scorch marks left by arson, and the rotting corpses that littered the streets like they’d fallen from the sky in a storm. American flags stood at their posts like ghosts, floating meaninglessly in the breeze every so often, should it be strong enough to carry them, and the weight of what they used to symbolize. The pledge of allegiance had earned its place in the history books, if they’d ever have their history recorded again, ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ nothing more than a patriotic ode to how things once were. It was eerie, and whole heartedly unnerving. They could only imagine what the bigger cities looked like now; Atlanta, Boston, New York…were they better? Or a hundred times worse?

The good humoured mood they boys had built up was quickly toned down, their pace becoming that much slower as they stepped around bodies, and put those who hadn’t been lucky enough to just die once out of their misery, with muttered prayers falling upon them like drops of salvation. Walkers could be seen in most shops, just standing idly, waiting for an excuse to lift their diseased faces up and heads towards any source of food. Pressing a hand to his brother’s chest, Connor motioned for him to stay silent, and to slowly move behind the line of cars that bordered the pavement. Crouching out of sight, the brother’s read the note once more.

“Mill street…well that’s helpful…” Connor murmured, quickly looking up and around once more to make sure they weren’t seconds from being jumped. Catching sight of a body several feet away, long since crow-eaten and very much dead, Murphy shook his head.

“It’d better not be in the middle of the fuckin’ city.”

“Aye. But if it is, I don’t wanna hear about it. Time for your big girl panties to debut, Murph.”

With a sneer, Murphy began to move further down the road, being careful to hurry across breaks in their line of protection. Not that it mattered much; whether they’d been spotted or they’d somehow made enough noise to attract attention, it wasn’t even minutes before a gargled moan could be heard behind them both. One soon became three, which turned into only God knew how many, because it’d only taken that one to make the brothers go from zero to running in seconds flat. Catching sight of the signs at the street corner, Murphy made a grab for Connor, pulling him off to the left.

“Down here, come on!”

Making the mistake of looking back, Connor had caught up to his brother in seconds,

“Do you know where we’re going-?!”

“Just keep your fuckin’ eyes open!”

Their loud, hurried talking only brought more attention to them both, and eventually they were forced to slow down, their weapons drawn and immediately being put to good use as they forced them into the skulls of any walkers that blocked their path. The herd they’d already gained were rapidly closing the distance between them, and so with a final pull, Connor freed his knife from the eye socket of an unfortunate male walker, and pulled Murphy up with him.

“There, over there – go, go, fuckin’ move!”

Sure enough, like a checkpoint in a horror survival game, the pharmacy loomed closer by the second. However, instead of leading them inside, Connor headed into one of the neighbouring stores, ignoring Murphy’s rapid-fire protests until they’d found a backroom to shut themselves inside. The only third party they had to worry about in here was the corpse of the presumed owner of the place, with long-dried brain matter spattered across the walls behind where he remained slumped in his office chair.

Pushing the desk across the door and adding whatever he could to it, Murphy went to chastise his brother for not helping, when he realized he wasn’t even paying attention. Instead, he was at the second door across the room, forcing it open and quickly killing the walker that resided inside a grunt of effort. Once the main door had been barricaded closed, the groans of the dead soon became secondary to Murphy rounding on Connor as soon as he came back into the room, his tone saturated with frustration and confusion.

“What the fuck was that? Why’re we here, this isn’t-”

“I know, Murph, I’m a-fuckin’-ware this isn’t where we need to be”

“Then why the fuck-”

“Murphy, it’s like you don’t have a lick of faith in me. Look here.”

With a final look at his makeshift barricade, Murphy joined Connor at the secondary door. As it turned out, it led to an adjoining break room, if you could even call it that. It was absolutely tiny – you couldn’t make much more than a cup of coffee and instant noodles with the utilities inside. But what made everything clear was a third door at the other end of the room. A back door.

“It leads out into the alley back there; as long as that’s clear, all we’ve gotta do is get in the back way of the pharmacy and we’re golden.”

Rolling his eyes at the triumphant smirk on Connor’s face, Murphy simply gave him a clap on the back as they headed for the door.

“Yeah yeah, good thinkin’”

“Good? That, my dear brother, was an example of stellar fuckin’ plan makin’”

“Whatever you say.”

Opening the back door, Connor poked his head out, checking for walkers before he stepped out, Murphy following behind with his own weapon in hand – an old hammer graciously donated by Fiona. The hissing and rasping sounds that slowly drew closer told them they maybe had seconds to get inside the pharmacy, and luckily for them, they managed just that, the door closing behind them just as a group staggered around the corner.

Locking this door with a click, the brothers listened out for signs that they weren’t alone as they moved through into the store. As they’d both predicted, the place had been ransacked. Shelves emptied and displays trampled, the cabinets behind the prescription counter half looted.

Murphy had followed quietly behind his twin, biting the nails of his free hand as his eyes flitted around the place, watching his step as he headed down one of the aisles. He knew as long as they found antibiotics and dressings they’d be good to go, but he kept an open mind as he checked any bottle he could find. For the most part, the names were unfamiliar to him. Around the corner, Connor had crouched down to inspect a box of prescription bottles when the first walker had made itself known. Murphy had opened his mouth to ask if there was anything specific they needed when he’d heard the struggle. By the time he’d rounded the end of the aisle and gotten to Connor, the thing was only centimetres from ripping out his throat, rancid teeth gnashing at his skin with a ferocity and strength Connor hadn’t been prepared for.

And just like that, with an equal amount of energy and anger, it was knocked off of him, its skull being caved in like a fresh Easter egg as Murphy beat its head into a pulpy mess, each strike harder than the last. No sooner had the first been dealt with did a second come slouching in, her once white uniform coat now stained and sullied beyond recognition, yellow hair just hanging in front of her face in moulding strains. When she grabbed for Murphy, she met the same end as her companion. When he was sure no more would come filing out, he dropped to his knees as Connor pushed himself to sit up, taking one of his arms and checking him for scratches. Connor didn’t have much of a choice but to let do the other, taking a deep breath.

“Thanks”

“My pleasure.” Once he was content, Murphy straightened up, offering Connor a hand up, which he accepted. “Look at us – a week outta the game and we’re like fuckin’ amateurs.”

“Speak for yourself; I’d say I did pretty fuckin’ well just now.”

“Oh, aye – Macho Murph’s back alright.”

Smirking at the nickname as Connor patted his shoulder, Murphy shook the bloody remnants off of his hammer, resuming the search for supplies once more. This time however, he was sure to stay closer to the other, ears open to any sounds that weren’t them.

While they only managed to find a few samples of the drugs they needed, gauze and dressings and medical tape were in surprising abundance. And with their bags almost empty, there was plenty of room to take what they wanted. Pocketing some anti-bacterial ointment before they headed out, Connor followed his brother through to the front of the store. There wasn’t much left for them to take, not that they’d been expecting much. Still, they began to rummage through the mess, taking anything that might have a use further down the line. For Connor, it was the packet of cheap, disposable razors that caused him to whistle through his teeth, before lobbing them at Murphy.

“Now find us a couple’a sticks of deodorant and we’re good to go!”

“Trust me, we’re on the same page. You fuckin’ stink, you know that?”

“Oh aye, I’m glad you noticed. Fuckin’ prick.”

With a devilish snigger, Murphy continued digging, holding up boxes of pills to see if they’d be needed.

“Got some pain meds over here”

“Good, keep lookin’. If y’find any iodine, grab that as well.”

.

The search, as far as Connor’s shopping list was concerned, was not successful, not that he’d been expecting much. For all his effort, all he ended up with was two bottles of Gatorade and a water, hidden under a cabinet after having rolled there once the vending machine nearby had been broken into. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

Murphy, on the other hand, was having a much better time. In a stroke of good luck, he managed to find an unopened box of soap bars. Moisturizing, girly shite – but after not washing much more than his face for weeks on end, the damn things could be glittery and he wouldn’t have given a solitary fuck. Once he’d emptied a few into his bag and pocketed two more, he was joining his brother, where he was sat behind the last stack of shelves that had managed to remain upright. They were careful to stay out of sight as they decided on what to do next. Pulling one of the soap bars out of his pocket, Murphy dropped it into Connor’s lap as he cracked the lid off the first Gatorade.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Holy shit”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, no Murph’, you don’t understand….we’re gonna smell so _fuckin’ pretty_ ”

“Shut your trap and give me the damn drink”

Handing it over, Connor watched in amused amazement as he drained nearly half the bottle in one turn before he managed to take some for himself.

It tasted like shit. But it certainly beat having nothing.

As his tongue became acclimatised to the taste, Murphy paused for a moment, looking around the corner of the shelf unit as he pitched his latest thought.

“If we can head back the way we came without gettin’ our heads torn off, I’ve got an idea”

Finishing off the drink with a weighted sigh of relief and temporary bliss, Connor looked at his sibling expectantly.

“Aye?”

“The cars. There was plenty of ‘em on our way in, on the streets, outside the shops right on the edge of town where we came in. We’ll probably have better luck with cars on the highway, but if people were tryin’ to escape, they’ll have shit in their cars. All we’ve gotta do is check ‘em out, get the boots open.”

“…You know what, little brother? You’re a little fuckin’ genius”

“Fuck off.”

“Nope, no can do – c’mere, come on!”

Making a huge show of trying to kiss his cheek, Connor surrendered a second later as Murphy managed to smack him in the face in his attempt to make him stop. It sent a pang of pain through to his swollen bruises, but he was still laughing to himself as he got up, bag slung over his shoulder with Murphy following suit.

The plan, whilst not the easiest to execute while the stakes were so high, eventually bore fruit. First, in the form of a blue Honda. While Connor kept watch, Murphy went through the stuff in the back seat as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much in the way of food, there was a lot of clothing, boxes of photo albums, and after shifting a box of family stuff, Murphy found the thing they’d been hoping for, water – two large multipacks of bottled water. Despite the weight, once a couple of wayward walkers had been dealt with, both packs were taken from the car in the brother’s arms, held almost as protectively as mothers with babies as they made their way out of the city. As far as a supply runs went, they’d hit the gold mine. Now all they needed was to come across a van filled with non-perishable food and they’d be set.

Their next success story was provided by a bigger, black car, parked some ways out of the city, just off of the road. They’d seen it on their way in, but until now hadn’t thought to search it. Even if they had, it soon became apparent that it would have been pointless – there was nothing inside worth stealing. The keys were nowhere to be found, but let it never be said that the MacManus brothers weren’t resourceful, because with some persistence and a bit of patience, the ignition was manipulated into starting the engine, which came to life without a hitch. There was barely any petrol left, but it was a good guess it’d be enough to get them to Fiona’s place, at the very least.

As it turned out, it wasn’t enough. But it got them close enough, and after some investigation, they’d chosen their next ride; a small grey van, parked outside Fiona’s neighbour’s place. As Connor began to sling the first bag of their haul into the back, Murphy went to climb into the driver’s side when he noticed something very wrong about the house they’d been staying in the past week or so.

The front door was open.

Cursing to himself, he looked back to where Connor was still loading their stuff, and approached the  house in a half-run, like he wanted to know what was going on, but didn’t want to find out first hand.

He didn’t need to look for long. He only needed to see the blood and the first of the bodies, one of the twin boys, splayed across the hallway on his front like a crash test dummy. Further down was his brother, and in the sitting room, the two women who’d granted them sanctuary. For a moment, Murphy thought he might be sick. He didn’t know what to do or how to feel, other than an overwhelming sense of apology, and a racking sense of guilt.

Had it not been for the sound of angry voices back at the van, he would have stayed. He would have shouted for Connor, and they would done what they could. But instead, as he backed out of the house and hurried back to his brother, he quickly realized that this wasn’t going to be a simple as either of them had assumed.

 

 


	61. The Problem of Evil

“This is our fucking ride, man – what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why’re we bothering with asking? Just kill him”

One moment he was closing the doors to the van, the next he had two pistols and a semi-automatic rifle pointed at him. The men who’d found him couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than them, all dark haired and black eyed except for one. He looked to be the youngest, maybe twenty or so, with a mop of blonde hair hanging above doe brown eyes that looked like they were still waiting to wake up from all of this. But while that feeling was mutual, it didn’t change the current situation. Keeping his gun aimed at the semi-automatic, Connor did his best to keep an eye on all three.

“There’s no need for anyone t’die here, lads. I didn’t know it was yours. Just let me get my shit and we can go our separate ways.”

“Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen.” Said the eldest, giving the Irishman a cruel smile like he’d already won the standoff.  “Tell you what, new plan. We kill you and take your shit. Extra supplies for us, one less Leprechaun in the world. Sounds like a fair trade off.”

“Where do I come into this then?”

Before they could blink, the blonde guy had his head forced back, and rammed face-first into the corner of the van, his hair remaining locked in a vice-like grip as Murphy yanked him away from the group, his gun raised to the kid’s temple. The whites of his widened eyes were a stark contrast to the streams of scarlet, flowing in torrents from his now badly broken nose. With a muttered order in his ear, his gun dropped from trembling hands.

“How about we listen to my plan, eh boys? Let’s do that. Get away from him, drop the guns, and start walkin’, or I cause your friend here a hell of a lot of pain.”

When they glanced from Connor to each other and decided to inch closer, without a flicker of hesitation, Murphy lowered his gun and put a bullet through the back of the blond’s right knee. Through the agonised screams of pain, soon muffled by his hand coming across his mouth, Murphy simply cocked his brows at the curses thrown his way, challenging them to try something with an expression Connor didn’t recognise.

“I can do this all goddamn day. Now drop ‘em…Drop ‘em or I blow the little shit’s brains all over the fuckin’ sidewalk! Do it fuckin’ now!”

The calm but no-nonsense tone he’d been using was replaced in a split second by sudden yelling, taking them all by surprise, though none as much as his brother, who could only stand back and shut up, wholly unsure of what he was watching. Something in Murphy had changed in the short amount of time they’d been here, and already he didn’t like it. The look in his eyes, the strength and rage in his tone like an attack dog’s bite…it was coming out of Murphy’s mouth, but it wasn’t Murphy.

When the second guy stepped up, only raising his gun further, Murphy just backed up, dragging the bleeding mess of a hostage with him.

“Motherfucker – you’re gonna pay for that!”

“Can’t fuckin’ wait.”

His finger had barely touched the trigger before Murphy took his own shot. And just like that, he dropped to the concrete below, a gush of blood erupting from his throat as his gun hit the ground. The eldest didn’t get a chance react, thanks to the bullet that passed through the back of his skull moments later. The kid was screaming even more now, tears of fear and grief mixing with his own blood. The last thing he saw was the Irishman he’d first spotted reaching out a hand, telling Murphy not to shoot.

Finally releasing the body, Murphy pushed it lightly with the toe of his boot so that it flopped almost onto its front, looking up at Connor as he rubbed the back of his hand across his face. When he addressed him, his voice was far softer, no longer spitting fire, as if that would help Connor understand what had just happened.

“…We should go.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“The shot’s would’ve been heard for miles by now, there’ll be walkers-”

“Murphy, what the _fuck_ just happened _.._? What was that just now, goin’ all ‘Terminator’ and shit…I’ve never seen you like that”

Swallowing back the dryness in his throat, Murphy elected to ignore the questions, instead crouching amongst the bodies to root through pockets until he found the keys to the van. When Connor had roughly pulled him up, Murphy had practically pushed him away with an under-the-breath curse, snapping at him that he was driving. Had it not been for the herd of walkers emerging from the side of the road and from some of the houses further along, Connor might have dragged him back and demanded an explanation then and there. Instead, he could only gather up the guns and any ammo the dead bodies held, and hurry to the passenger side door as Murphy’s slammed shut. Dumping them in the back, Connor watched the road ahead for a few minutes, processing what had just taken place and what could have caused such a drastic mood swing in his sibling.

They killed walkers, no problem. They’d killed the living in the raid on the prison and on Woodbury. But both of those situations were so different to what they were driving away from. They shot to kill, and more often than not, it was from a distance. Murphy had put that kid through more pain than was necessary, and the fact he’d done it so willingly only concerned Connor more.

It was more than twenty minutes before he said anything, only looking to Murphy once he was done.

“…What was that, Murph. That wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Alright then, I’ll rephrase; since when do you get off torturin’ people?”

That tightened Murphy’s jaw that much more, his eyes focused on the road but not really concentrating on anything. He could feel his brother staring at him, which made it that much harder to keep his expression steady. He didn’t feel right. He felt like what he’d just learned couldn’t be real, yet he knew in his bones it was. People died left right and centre, it was just what happened now. You live or you die.

But they’d only been gone two, maybe three hours at most. So much had happened in that short space of time, and so much could have been changed if they’d just waited a while longer. He didn’t even know why it’d affected him so badly; he’d been grateful to Fiona and Gemma, sure. Their kids were nice enough, but overall he hadn’t bonded with any of them. Not much anyway. Even after the speech Fiona hadn’t given him about how lucky he was to have Connor as a brother, he hadn’t felt any closer to her.

So why did he feel like this? Why was he feeling the loss so strongly?

Connor didn’t get his answer. Not until night fall at least, when they’d found a new house to stay in for the night. Murphy had taken out the walkers that wandered from room to room with his hammer this time, with Connor holding up the torch light but looking away until Murphy was done. He was releasing pent up anger, or sorrow or something – whatever it was, it meant every walker had their  head caved in with far more force and violence than was necessary. Save for a word here or there, the boys said nothing to each other as they unloaded what they needed from the van, with Connor settling in the front room to clean and load up their new found weapons. Murphy had found the upstairs bathroom and filled the sink with water, dropping the empty bottles on the floor without much thought.

After so long without shaving or washing, this was as close to a wind-down as he was going to get. The feeling of suds against his battered and calloused skin caused an audible sigh of relief, the colour of the water soon going from cloudy white to a sickly brown and the droplets that ran down his body quickly turning dark with the remnants of walker and human blood. Moving from his neck to his chest and torso, the feeling of where his scars were continuing to heal acted like speed bumps beneath his fingertips, ribs still sore and bruised from where Joe’s guys had used him as a punching bag.

He rubbed the bar through his hair and over his face, not caring when the water stung his eyes as he bent his head over the basin. He was just simply relishing the feeling of finally being clean. It wouldn’t last long, but it’d greatly been anticipated. He took his time shaving, watching in the mirror as the face he’d grown accustomed to fell away stroke by stroke. Usually, being clean shaven made him look younger; all it did now was reveal creases and marks and yellowing bruises he’d forgotten about. The lack of good food and decent sleep had taken their toll as well. The more he looked at his reflection, the less he liked what he saw.

When he’d finally gone back downstairs, Connor paused what he was doing, the change in his brother’s appearance quickly noted.

“Bathroom’s free.” Murphy said, in the same way a teenager breaks the ice with a parent after a particularly nasty fight. It told Connor he was sorry, in his own way – sorry for whatever the offence that round was. But as he gathered his own things, Connor just gave him a closed ‘thanks’ in response.

Not bothering to close the door, Connor went about the same motions as Murphy had only a short while ago, until he too felt at least a little better, in body at least. Mentally and emotionally, he was in desperate need of recuperation. Just a week without any risk of bodily harm or violent death would have worked wonders. Hell, just the general talking and joking around they’d into their journey to Barnesville had done more good than he’d imagined, no matter how short lived, because they were both – somewhat – at ease.

Whether it’d been the incident at the pharmacy or something else, something between then and finding the van had happened that’d put Murphy severely on edge. That was probably his answer. If something was wrong that he wasn’t being told about, and if it was bad enough to stress his brother out, it made him worry. It made them fight, and that in turn made them weak. And yet, it was the epitome of a double edged sword. They were both each other’s strength, which in turn made them each other’s biggest weakness.

Once he was finished, he didn’t go back downstairs right away. Instead, he took another look around the upstairs, reminding himself of how many beds there were to spare. Pushing open the door to the master bedroom, the mess would have been hard to miss; someone had packed in a hurry, with random clothes strewn over the bed and across the floor. Picking up one of the shirts, it was obvious fairly quickly it was a size or two too big, but it’d serve its purpose well enough.

Downstairs, Murphy was taking stock of how much ammunition they had; not enough, was the short answer, which in turn made him keep thinking back to what happened earlier that day. It’d been a waste of bullets, but at the time it’d felt totally necessary. When the stairs groaned under his brother’s footsteps, he made himself look up as Connor came back into the room, peeling off his T-shirt and pulling on one he’d obviously just found. A long sleeved one, without any embellishments or patterns. Just dark grey.

“There’s a bed up there; I’d take it if I was you.”

“What about you?”

Nodding to the couch, Connor just raised a hand when Murphy went to protest.

“I don’t wanna hear it. After today I’m thinkin’ you need rest, and a lot of it. You’re not thinkin’ straight, Murph. You’re not yourself. I don’t know if sleep’s gonna help with that, but while the offer’s there, you’re takin’ it – and don’t even try to tell me you’re fine, don’t you even fuckin’ try it.”

He took the words right out of his mouth, and for a moment, Murphy was at a loss as to what he could say. Connor could read him like an open book, knew his tells and when he was lying. Knew when he was covering something up.

“…What was that, earlier? I mean, I’ve seen you mad. I’ve seen you get defensive, and I’ve seen you threaten people if you need to. But I’ve _never_ seen you like that. Fuckin’ look at me, Murph”

Coming further into the room, Connor snapped his fingers, finally making his brother lift his face. The poor lighting made it hard for him to work out his expression, but he got the general idea.

“I know somethin’s up, I know you’re hidin’ somethin’, so just tell me.”

The demand was there, but it was wrapped in concern; one that made it very difficult for Murphy to do anything but tell him everything.

He’d felt terrible for what happened to the family, and as Connor came to realize why his brother had reacted so violently to the men at the van, everything very rapidly clicked into place, with his own misplaced sense of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. He thought about asking why Murphy hadn’t told him back at the house, but he already knew the answer. Running his fingers through his hair, his hands came to rest at the nape of his neck.

“…We should’a stayed. Buried ‘em at least.”

“There wasn’t time. The place would’a been crawlin’ with walkers…” Murphy replied, his voice sullen and rough. Although he hadn’t been, it had the intonation of someone who had been crying. “I’m the one who started firin’, I’m the one that told the walkers where we were…but I couldn’t let them slide, Conn.”

“I know.”

“I’m just so fuckin’ _tired_ of fightin’, of livin’ like this – I’m fuckin’ sick of having guns pointed at us at every other fuckin’ corner, and I’m sick of movin’ around and havin’ to watch our backs every second. Every time we get somethin’ good now, there’s no enjoyin’ it because it’s fuckin’ gone like _that_. It’s just pain and misery and I’m fuckin’ sick of it.”

Connor just listened from where he stood as Murphy carried on.

“They didn’t deserve that – they didn’t deserve to die, Hershel didn’t deserve that. The prison was the best shot we had and it went up in fuckin’ smoke.”

The last few words were emphasised by the coffee table taking a good kicking, anything on top of it sent flying across the room.

“…What’re you sayin’, Murph?”

“I’m sick and fuckin’ tired and it’s not fuckin’ fair! It’s not fair that this happened to the world, and it’s not fair that we have to live in it after spendin’ our entire fuckin’ lives worshippin’ a God that’s supposed to look out for us, but who instead just let all this happen anyway. Who let so many people die – so many people that followed Him and lived by Him, he just let them get wiped out. Like they were nothin’. We could die tonight and it wouldn’t matter to Him.”

“Murph…”

“No, think about it. It wouldn’t. After what we made a name for ourselves doin’…it doesn’t mean anythin’ now. And why did we start in the goddamn first place..?”

Connor let him trail off, let him catch his breath and calm down for a couple of moments before he finally approached him, and pulled him into a hug – one that was reciprocated tightly. He could feel Murphy’s heart pounding under his ribs, feel how fast he was breathing, like he’d been running and hadn’t been able to stop until now.

He hadn’t been expecting all of that. He’d known Murphy was upset, but evidently his brother was better at hiding things than he’d given him credit for. It was minutes before Connor eventually pulled them apart, though only enough to gently bump their foreheads, and resting them together. Murphy’s eyes were closed; whether it was out of embarrassment for his outburst or he was simply trying to calm himself down, it didn’t make much difference.

“We started because it was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t legal, maybe it was ethically fucked, but we did a lot of good, Murph. God might’ve told us to do it, but we’re the ones who came through and did it. We killed a lot’a people who didn’t deserve the air they were breathin’, and I don’t regret a single second of it. As for all of this…I don’t know if we’ve gotten this far because of God or because we’re the luckiest men left on the planet, but I do know that I’d rather be alive and makin’ my time here mean somethin’ than just hidin’ away from everythin’ somewhere, waitin’ to be saved.”

“How can we make our time mean anythin’ anymore…” The muttered, embittered words didn’t make a question. Pulling away a few inches, Connor looked Murphy right in the eye.

“By stayin’ alive. By helpin’ people if we can, doesn’t matter how. And by stayin’ together. If this is God’s work, causin’ the end of the world as we know it, then fine. I don’t know why we’re still alive, if there’s some bigger plan for us - but I know for a fact that I’m here to watch your back, to keep us together for as long as I can. He’s done what he wants. It’s up to us what we make of it now, and the brother I grew up wouldn’t throw it all away because he’s sick and fuckin’ tired. Come on…what happened to ‘Macho Murph’? If he could see this now, you reckon he’d waste any time kickin’ your ass?”

With a breathy, quiet laugh, Murphy wiped his face on the back of his hand. For once, Connor didn’t crack a joke about it. He just waited for Murphy to look at him again before reaching up, giving his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze.

“…You give one hell of a pep talk…thanks…really.”

“No need for that, you daft bastard. But I’ll say this now – you let all that build up again? Give us a bit of warnin’. I’ll have a better script ready, just for you.”

 


	62. Wake me up

While they usually woke early nowadays, for some reason, neither of the boys actively got up for hours the next morning – it was only when their hunger became too hard to ignore that either of them actually did anything about it. Seeing each other in the light of day without excessive amounts of facial hair was something of a surprise, but it was obvious – to Connor at least – that Murphy’s outburst the night before had done wonders to his mood. While they both felt horrible for what had happened to Gemma and her family, and likely would for a while after, some tension that had been laying under the surface had been dissolved. It was slight, but it was a difference.

By the time they’d decided to leave, it was already late into the afternoon. Connor took the first driving shift, and swapped with Murphy after a while. But, just as their luck would have it, they only made it a few hours more before the van eventually ground to a halt, the fuel tank sign flashing red at Murphy as he pulled over with a groan.

“Fuck…”

Rapping two fingers against Connor’s cheek to wake him up, Murphy pocketed the keys from the ignition, and straightened up for a second, stretching an arm out of the window as his back cracked and clicked with the motion.

“Wakey wakey, we’re here.”

“The fuck’re you on about…”

“What? I thought you wanted to wake up in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. My bad.”

Ignoring him, Connor cracked his neck to the side with a wince, and let himself out of the door a moment later. It wasn’t as humid as it had been some weeks ago, with the light wind that only just disturbed the forest floor a welcome surprise as they both stretched their legs, meeting around the passenger side.

“Haven’t seen another car for miles…looks like we’re walkin’ the rest of the way.”

“Aye, it does. We’ve only got a few hours of daylight left; might as well stay here an’ head off first thing.”

“Alright. Just try not t’fall asleep on me again. You’re borin’ enough when you’re awake.”

Clouting Murphy round the ear – or at least trying to – Connor gave him a push as he clicked towards the back of the van.

“I’ll give you fuckin’ borin’ in a minute. Go on, open it up – I’m fuckin’ starvin’”

 

 

Connor didn’t sleep that night. They’d long since lost any way of really telling what the time was, only that once night fell, if sleep didn’t take them, the following hours would be long and tedious. Apparently the same could not be said for Murphy, who was out of it the second his head was down – somewhat impressive, given the state of the back of the van and how hard it was to get comfortable – but regardless, he slept just fine. Perhaps it’d been building up and the events of the last few days had been the boiling point, but whatever it was, he’d managed to shift it. But for Connor, the weight wasn’t so easy to get rid of. His eyes ached almost intolerably with the need for sleep, but his thoughts refused to let them stay closed. As he often did when he found himself unable to drift off, he began to pray, words practically inaudible but each flowing from his lips in a well-rehearsed order.

He thought back to everything Murphy had said – all things that had obviously been nagging at him for some time, since the prison, if not before. Connor couldn’t have been sure when the seed of doubt had planted itself in the back of his brother’s mind, but it was clear now that it wouldn’t leave him completely for some time. He didn’t pray as much as he used to, that much was easy enough to notice, and now Connor knew why. He just hoped it was temporary – while he knew that it had been the two of them who’d gotten this far and that he’d done all he could to keep them together and to keep them safe, and that all of this had been harder than anything they’d been through before, without the faith that’d always been there with them, he didn’t want to know how much harder it could get. Murphy was in a good enough mood with him, but as far as this went, Connor knew it was a fight waiting to happen.

It seemed they’d shut themselves in at just the right time; not long after they’d settled did the sounds of footsteps outside keep Connor up, the familiar snapping, hissing moans of the walking dead easily heard through the walls of the van. They moved along after some time, but even when he nearly managed to fall asleep, he’d always jolt himself awake again, whether it was a walker outside or a walker forcing its way into his dreams.

It was close to four in the morning when he woke up next, this time accidentally kicking Murphy in the side and eliciting a yelp of shock in the process, quickly quietened down to a stage whisper as he sat up, looking round for the assumed threat before looking in Connor’s general direction.

“What the fuck – what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, sorry…fuckin’ slip dream or some shit”

“You alright?”

“Fine…go back to sleep, sorry for wakin’ you.”

The temptation was certainly there, but Murphy knew that now he was awake, there wasn’t much chance of that changing. The sudden noise from inside the van had given any walkers nearby an excuse to pin themselves to the vehicle like magnets to a fridge, decaying nails scratching at the paintwork.

Shifting himself over so that they were sat side by side, Murphy pulled his jacket on, and looked to his brother despite them both sitting in darkness.

“You sound like shit. Did you get any sleep..?”

“Some”  

“Liar.”

Well, not entirely. “Look, go back over there and get a few more hours in, I don’t need you keepin’ me company.”

“I hate t’be the bearer of bad news Conn, but I’m pretty much the only company you’ve got. Might as well enjoy it.”

Despite the sleepiness weighing on his eyes, he managed a small in the dark.

“Like I could fuckin’ forget…”

“…You remember when we had that whole week off ‘cause of the snow..?” Murphy finally asked after a long stint of quiet between them, with both resting their eyes but still awake, somewhat at least.

“…Before we got caught?” Connor finally replied, voice heavier than it was before, unsure of why Murphy was bringing that up now.

“Nah – way back, when we were younger. You woke me up at the arse crack of dawn just because it fuckin’ snowin’…”

Connor said nothing, only made a small noise of acknowledgement, and for a minute, Murphy thought he may well be falling asleep. Whether he was or wasn’t, he decided to continue, letting his own eyes close once more, his voice raspy with the effort of having to remember to whisper.

“We were all excited, ‘cause we were practically snowed in; couldn’t get outta the back door, or the front almost. That meant no school till it melted, and back then, you know…that was the main goal in life; skip school and not get in trouble. And you had this whole, big, elaborate plan set up for what we were gonna do that whole time. And it was all shit like ‘watch TV, go to the barn and camp there for a whole night’ – like we’d do that…we were, what? Fifteen? Shows how fuckin’ bored we must’a been…I know you ended up watching your stupid fuckin’ Western movies in the evenin’s, I don’t remember what the fuck I did then. To this day I don’t understand your fuckin’ fascination with ‘em…the ones I saw at least were utter shite, though definitely not as bad as the crap they put on regular TV.  
  
And then after like…a day, the magic was fuckin’ gone. The TV didn’t work half the time, and we couldn’t get any more fags till the snow let up. Hell, couldn’t even go outside to smoke when Ma was sleepin’…and I remember you bein’ so fuckin’ _grouchy_ and me just windin’ you up till you hit me, or the other way around. I only remember that because that was the time you caught me with your elbow when we were wrestlin’, and I woke up the next day with a massive fuckin’ black eye…you face when you realized you did it was just fuckin’ _priceless,_ like Ma was gonna string y’up by your own damn guts…like she gave a shite who had what bruises. Unless we needed a hospital, I remember her either congratulatin’ us or calling us fuckin’ idiots, dependin’ on her mood. All she fuckin’ did was roll her eyes at you and give me some frozen fuckin’ peas!”

With a hushed laugh to himself, unbeknownst to him, Murphy rested his head against the wall of the van, the sounds of the walkers growing louder the closer he put his ear.

Anyway…I remember bein’ really fuckin’ bored at first, but….it was a good week as well. When you weren’t actin’ like a prick, you were like this alien who’d come to Earth, with the sole purpose of makin’ sure we had shit to do…that was the week we planned our first tattoos. Christ…makes us sound so fuckin’ old…”

Perhaps he would have gone on if Connor had said something. But instead, all he got in reply was a soft snore.

 

X

 

Ice cold. That’d been the first thing Murphy had felt as he shot into consciousness and practically catapulted himself out of bed, much to the amusement of his brother. As Connor doubled over with laughter, Murphy quickly put two and two together; it was snowing outside, pretty heavily by the looks of things. The outdoor window sill was piled high with white, thick lumps pouring down with the wind and only adding to it. However, these new and exciting weather conditions did not take away from the fact that he was now in his boxers, on the bedroom floor, with snow tipped over him and melting all over his bed. Lurching forward, he tackled his brother to the floor, his annoyance giving him a slight advantage over Connor’s continued cackling.

“You’re such a fuckin’ twat – how about I throw you outta the fuckin’ window, see how you fuckin’ like it-?!”

“You should’a seen your face, your fuckin’ face, Murph! It was all like-”

Given only a second to do a dramatic impression of his sibling, Connor was soon back to getting his ass handed to him, though this quickly grew boring. Soon enough the both of them were wrestling, each getting good hits in and swearing like sailors, and only coming to a stop when their mother yelled at them both from the bottom of the stairs. Rolling onto their backs, totally out of breath, Murphy only gave himself a minute to recover before he was up, running to the bathroom and locking the door before Connor could protest. Hot water was one a first come, first served basis this early in the morning, and it looked like Murphy had won this round.

By the time they would usually be leaving for school, both of the boys were instead in the kitchen, listening to the radio with their Mum, waiting to hear if they’d even be able to go in. It’d been snowing since last night, but had become much thicker and heavier as the night went on. While they waited for the music to finish, Annabelle did the washing up while the brothers warmed their hands with cups of tea, quietly muttering to each other. Eventually their mugs were switched when Connor got fed up of Murphy complaining about how his tasted, though when the news jingle cut through the end of the song, all three in the room stopped what they were doing to listen as the volume was turned up. As soon as they heard the news that the snow wouldn’t be stopping any time soon, the twins grinned at each other; of course, their Mum would call the school to be sure, but it was pretty much set in stone.

Mother fucking snow day.

The radio host had barely gotten through the last of their report before the brothers were back upstairs, thudding up to their room like a herd of elephants in a rush to get out of their uniforms and into their own clothes – into clothes that they wouldn’t get into trouble for ruining if, say, they happened to get soaked to the bone in a snow drift. When they were back downstairs, their Mother came through to the hallway, shaking her head as they pulled on their boots.

“And where are you two goin’?”

“Out” Came their reply in unison.

“Not till it’s light out, you’re not. I won’t have the two of yous runnin’ out there and slippin’ on some black ice, breakin’ your bloody necks. It’s only half seven, go back to bed. Let me have some peace and quiet for a few hours, especially after that racket earlier.”

“I can’t, Ma – Connor filled me bed with snow. S’all melted and shit, made a right mess.”

Looking from one to the other, she quickly wiped Connor’s triumphant smirk from his face when he was clipped around the ear, and ordered to go and sort it out. With a smug little snigger, Murphy followed Connor back upstairs, and made himself all-too comfortable on his brother’s bed, watching as he dumped his sodden pillows on the floor and stripped the sheets.

“S’what you get for bein’ an ass”

“Shut up, y’little snitch.”

When Murphy threw a cushion at him, he got hit in the face with the freezing cold bed sheet, balled up for maximum impact.

“What do you wanna do anyway – after you’re done playin’ housemaid”

Flipping him off as he stepped out of the door, Connor came back a minute later with fresh bed linen, and dumped it unceremoniously on top of his brother as he clambered onto the bed with him, probably kicking him in process.

“I dunno…could try an’ go out for a bit, watch TV maybe…”

“You seen it? We can hardly get the fuckin’ front door open.”

“TV it is then.”

“There won’t be anythin’ on”

Giving Murphy a knowing look, Connor gave him another kick before he pushed off his shoes, and submerged his legs in duvet.

“Well we’re sorta limited here…you can watch TV, or I can continue where we left off earlier – prove which one of us is older. Not that it’s not already fuckin’ obvious-”

“Fuck off”

“Fuck you, I know shit – come on, you’re the baby, Murph. Always have been. Me little, dear baby brother-”

It was long before their mother was shouting up at them to settle down, and only a minute or so more before she had to come up the stairs herself to get them off of one another.

“What did I tell you both? For Christ’s sake, you’re both sixteen. Make a change if you started actin’ like it.”

Like before, their answer was in almost perfect unison.

“He started it”

 


	63. Running on empty

(A/N: Hello reader! Just a quick warning, from the end of this chapter onwards, the story will be moving from the end of season 4 into season 5, and evolving as S5 progresses. While I will be careful to avoid major spoilers when I can, it’s now definitely read at your own risk! Thank you J )

 

While they didn’t wake up to snow the next morning, the chill in the breeze was more than enough to shake them from their dreams, if you could call them that. Despite his initial troubles during the night, Connor had stayed dead to the world until Murphy had banged on the side of the van with his fist, smirking to himself when he heard the voice inside cursing at him. Swinging round the back and into view, he gave his brother a childish grin.

“Sorry – didn’t mean t’wake you”

Connor just shot him a tired-eyed glare and pointed two warning fingers at him. “You’re a little shit, and the first chance I get, I’m tying you to a tree an’ leavin’ you there”

“Really? Last I checked it was a church pew or somethin’ like that”

“Aye, well, you’ve been demoted to a fuckin’ tree. Fuckin’ deal with it”

With a laugh, Murphy climbed back in and sat with his legs hanging out of the doors, grabbing at the water in his brother’s hand when he kept pulling it out of his reach.

“Give it here – so. We’re walkin’ today then”

“That’s the plan”

“Feel like bein’ any more specific?”

Swallowing his mouthful of water, Connor shrugged.

“We go as far as we can, and keep doin’ that till we find Terminus. That specific enough?”

Murphy just frowned for a moment, thinking over the answer he’d gotten.

“…No. Not really.”

“Tough shit, that’s all you’re gettin’”

It may not have been the exact answer Murphy was hoping for, but it served its purpose. Despite the on-running inside joke that was Connor and his love of making plans, and how they didn’t always work out how he wanted, they were what got them from A to B each day. They’d gotten them this far - that was all they could ask for.

For a while, walkers weren’t much of a problem. They’d take it in turns to take them out, sticking their knives into the backs of their skulls where possible, or through the temple if they got too close. It was easy enough, until Murphy noticed a much larger group of them across the road. They didn’t look particularly excited about anything, just stood in place or pacing from one foot to the other, waiting for a cry for help or gunfire to get them moving. They hadn’t noticed the pair just yet. Tapping Connor’s arm to get his attention, the brothers disappeared into the cover of the trees, though that wasn’t saying much, given how much thinner the woods were becoming. It wouldn’t be long until they were more or less completely out in the open. Not that there was much they could do about any of it. So, until they were clear of the herd, they moved quickly and said nothing above a mutter, keeping their eyes open to the area around them as well as the threats across the way.

Since leaving the van, time dragged with no real sense of urgency. By the end of the third day of walking, the brothers were both exhausted, but kept their guards up long enough to settle in a small house a few miles off the road. It took some effort to keep each other cheerful enough to carry on, but one way or another, they managed it, sometimes by simply saying nothing at all and just being in each other’s company. Murphy took a new count of their bullets and their weapons, keeping himself busy cleaning each of them with care as Connor looked over the map and marked off roughly where they’d been and where they were now. By now the thing was in pretty bad shape, but still clear enough to tell him that they had a long way to go before reaching their destination. While this wasn’t news to him, it still meant a lot of open road to cover on foot, unless they could find another working vehicle. It meant a lot of risk for them both, and that he had to keep reminding himself that they were never really safe anywhere. Not for long.

He only looked up when he noticed a can of beans being handed to him, shortly followed by a bottle of water. Murphy said nothing, just gave him a tired smile as he went back to space across the room, dragging the bag closed towards him so he could find something for himself.

“How long do you reckon it’ll take us to get there?”

Forcing down the first mouthful of the cold, slime-like contents of the can, Connor chased it with a gulp of water to stop himself from gagging. Murphy just watched in sympathy, eyeing his own food with a little more suspicion while he waited for his answer.

“…Can’t say for sure. All I know? If we find a car, that’d take a lot’a time off of the trip.”

“You’re hopin’ for miracle right there.”

“Aye. So you’d best say your prayers extra nice tonight.”

Murphy smirked at the comment, but didn’t say what crossed his mind. Instead he focused on getting some food in him, and just as Connor was, tried his best to do so without getting too grossed out. They always say that, when push comes to shove, you’ll eat whatever’s put in front of you if you’re hungry enough – if only that saying was as easily done as it was said. Neither of them needed to complain out loud; the looks on their faces gave it all away pretty clearly.

After that the days seemed to feel longer and longer, and while the lower temperatures made things a little easier to cope with, the running and walking became monotonous very quickly. Their only saving grace was the ease they brought each other, because neither could imagine taking this same trip alone.

They’d go through periods of conversation, talking about anything that came to mind to keep their minds distracted, whether it was from the ache in their feet or the ache in their bellies. If Murphy complained, he’d get a half-hearted shove telling him to shut up, and when Connor complained, Murphy just rolled his eyes and continued on. If one wanted to stop for a break, the other always managed to urge them on a little longer until neither could walk on without resting. The thing that helped was the occasional sign for Terminus. It helped keep the image of the supposed safe haven clear and fresh in their minds. It acted as incentive, especially when their moods took a dive.

Soon enough the trees began to thin out, so before they ran out of cover completely, the boys came to a stop, their bags hitting the floor with almost as much enthusiasm as the brothers themselves. Sinking into a crouch, Murphy let himself fall back the rest of the way, sighing loudly and unabashedly in relief as the weight was taken off of his feet. Connor stayed up a minute longer, scanning the area around them before he followed suit.

“Don’t get too comfy Murph – we’re not stoppin’ long.”

“Says who…my feet are fuckin’ killin’ me…”

“Aye, and walkers are gonna be fuckin’ killin’ you if we pitch the fuckin’ tent”

“Touché.”

“Chuck me a water will you”

“Aye…”

“Thanks”

Sitting up long enough to throw him a bottle, Murphy waited a minute before gesturing to him to throw it back. For a moment he watched his brother; he looked tired. He always looked tired nowadays – hell, they were both fucking tired, but it was different somehow. When Murphy managed a few hours’ sleep, it was deep enough to be restful, and when he was tired, it was purely physical. He had a lot on his mind, but more often than not he was able to compartmentalize.

But it was as if Connor was constantly awake in one way or another, constantly listening for walkers or other survivors, always worrying about their supplies or their health or just the world in general. He’d been like that since they were kids. Since they’d become aware that their father wasn’t coming back home. Although their mother had done the best she could, the boys had still worked out their own system. It was like from that point, Connor had taken that role on himself almost – wherever Connor went, Murphy followed. Whatever plan Connor conceived, Murphy went along with, and even now, that’d worked for them both just fine.

But, even with the apparent weight of the world on his shoulders, the only way you’d know it was there would be if you knew him well enough to see how serious he’d become.

Eventually he looked away, only to glance back when the map was spread out on the ground in front of Connor.

“How much further is it..?”

Usually this would have been said to be antagonising, but this time it was purely out of curiosity – either way, Connor didn’t seem to hear him at first. Or he simply didn’t reply until Murphy went to ask again.

“Hey – how much-”

“Yeah, sorry…I’m thinking another day at least. I don’t know exactly. Might be less, judgin’ by the other maps…haven’t seen one for a while though”

The thought of another full day of walking anywhere forced a curse out of Murphy.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Don’t say a word, Murph. I don’t know exactly where we are, I’m just guessin’ here. Since we left the town we’ve been pretty much walkin’ blind.”

“We’ve had the road maps and you playin’ SatNav. I’d say that’s better than blind”

“Fuck off.”

“Alright…hey.”

Throwing the empty bottle at him, Murphy returned the pissed off glare he got with a look Connor was quickly becoming accustomed to.

“Don’t worry about it too much, alright? We’ll get there. If it takes a couple’a days or a week, we’ll get there. Jus’ don’t stress out. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

“Good – we should be fuckin’ nervous. We’re sat out here in the fuckin’ open and this is quickly becomin’ one of the dumbest fuckin’ plans we’ve come up with. We’re runnin’ out of everythin’ and we’re both fuckin’ exhausted, so don’t fuckin’ tell me not to worry, Murph. That’s not a fuckin’ option.”

He waited out the rant with downcast eyes, and only looked up when Connor had stopped. Without a word, Murphy got to his feet and zipped up his bag, before slinging it over his shoulder, and stepping towards his brother, where he snatched up the map and folded it into his pocket. Cutting off the wave of protest, he held out a hand to help Connor up.

After a few seconds of guilty hesitation, he took the offer, and his bag when Murphy handed it to him.

“Come on. No time to sit around bitchin’…there’s a house round here with our names on it”

For a while, they walked in silence, but when Connor attempted to apologize, Murphy just gave him a brotherly shove, and a small smirk. And that was that.

By late afternoon, they’d come to another expanse of trees and woodland, though the cover it gave them also meant any walkers were concealed until they got close. They’d been talking quietly when Murphy was suddenly grabbed at, pulled almost completely off balance as the creature dug it’s blackened nails in. In the split second that it took for him to react, it was already gnashing mere inches from his face, hands gripping at his shirt and pulling itself closer and closer. It was all over in seconds, with Murphy soon wrenching his knife from the thing’s temple, but as the body hit the floor, it quickly became apparent that the scuffle had brought them attention that they’d been wanting to avoid.

Before he could count how many walkers were now looking their way with ravenous, dead eyes, Connor was grabbing Murphy himself and the two took off running, with their bags thumping against their sides as they picked up speed. However, while adrenaline was a powerful motivator, it only went so far on near empty stomachs and already tired legs. The collection of undead trailing after them certainly meant they kept up pace for as long as they could, though when they both began to show signs of slowing, Connor turned to Murphy and went to tell him what they should do, but was interrupted by the face full of tree leaves, and then the floor beneath his feet disappearing.

The next thing he knew, he was falling – or rather, rolling, heavily and clumsily down a steep hill of sorts, before coming to a harsh stop at the bottom. He couldn’t remember hitting his head, and if he had, it hadn’t done much damage, given how little time there was between him coming around and Murphy saying something to him and dragging him to his feet, hurriedly pulling him down behind a tree and into the bushes surrounding it. When he looked up at his brother, it took a moment for his vision to clear, though he’d already noticed Murphy was bleeding. He couldn’t see much else, since Murphy was turned away, watching the space where they’d landed. When Connor tried to move and ask if he was alright, Murphy cut him off by holding a hand over his mouth, telling him with serious eyes to stay silent. Because what Connor couldn’t see were the three infected that had wandered into the area soon after he’d been pulled into hiding. For now, they weren’t facing their direction, but Murphy was watching them so intensely, it was a surprise they didn’t feel it.

It was an agonisingly tense ten minutes, but it came to an end that no one in the scene expected. One of the walkers had branched away from its friends, and had it made it a few more steps and looked down, she would have found where the brothers were trying to stay concealed, desperately willing the walkers to wander off and let them collect themselves.

The explosion would have been heard for miles. And as a result, did a fine job of taking any walkers off of their scent. Within a minute, the immediate area was cleared.

Once he was sure they were alone, Murphy straightened up, giving his brother a hand up while he searched for the tell-tale plume of smoke.

“The fuck was that…”

“No clue...”

“Terminus?”

“Let’s hope not…we haven’t walked all this way for the place to be blown to fuckin’ smithereens. You’re bleedin’.”

Finally looking back to Connor, Murphy frowned as he followed his eye line, smudging the blood into his hair as he brought his hand down, smudging his fingers together as if a wound was the last thing on his priority list.

“How about you? You in one piece?”

“I’m fine”

“Sure? You sorta blacked out for a minute back there”

“I said I’m fuckin’ fine – come on, I wanna know what the fuck that was.”

Even if he’d wanted to push Connor to check himself for injury, Murphy’s curiosity was only matched by his brother’s, and soon enough they were following the sound – or at least, the tracks left by the walkers. Occasionally they had to duck out of sight as small groups shuffled into their lines of sight, but it wasn’t long before they both noticed the thick column of black smoke rising into the air, and soon after, the source, though the gunfire was a giveaway that not all was right in paradise.

This was Terminus alright. Long, tall fences surrounded a huge lot of storage containers and buildings, and large letters pasted to the inside of several windows spelled out the place’s name.

But ‘sanctuary’ was not the image that came to mind as they took in what exactly what was happening. It looked like a tanker of gas or petrol had been to blame for the explosion, and therefore, for the streams of walkers practically pouring into the compound.  At times it was hard to focus on who was human and what was walker, and from this distance, neither of the brothers could recognize any of the people fighting for their lives.

“Mother’a Christ…”

“What should we do?” Looking to his brother, Murphy waited for him to turn to him and answer. “Conn. What’re we doin’ here?”

“You’re askin’ if we’re goin’ down into that clusterfuck..? No. No fuckin’ way, we’re close enough right here.”

“What I was thinkin’…guess we need a new plan.”

“Aye…”

For a minute, the two just watched the bedlam unfold further. More walkers had come in, and for every bullet used to try and subdue them, it seemed like seven more appeared. Muttering somewhat to himself, Connor watched as one man was overpowered and forced onto the ground by the dead.

“…I might need a minute.”

 


	64. Unfamiliar faces

Had it not been for more walkers emerging from the trees behind them, the brothers probably would have watched the carnage for a while longer. They wanted to know who the survivors were, and in a way wanted to know for sure that the place really was no longer habitable. They’d wasted their time, but not for the reason Connor had thought. And while every second they spent watching from safety instead of going into the fray and helping them played tug-of-war with his conscience, his moral obligation to his family outweighed his Christian obligation to those in need. Something that had become easier and easier to deal with as time went on.

Taking down the walkers that required it, the two headed further along the fence, guided by the survivors as they headed in the same direction. Neither of them knew what they planned to do if they confronted the people fighting their way out, if they would at all. Despite Murphy’s hesitance when they’d first considered sticking with Rick’s group when they’d first reached the prison, he knew that they were better off with numbers on their side. As they hurried along the outskirts of the sanctuary, Murphy’s hand trailed against the links in the fence, coming away only to ward off another infected.

Other than some murmured praise from his brother following the body’s drop, they carried on without a word. It was strange to think how commonplace it had become; they’d always used guns. Now knives and shivs rested in their hands as comfortably as their own skin.

It wasn’t much longer after that that the survivors found a place at the fence to climb over, although they didn’t need to get much closer for the brother’s recognize them. The first of the group that spotted them was Michonne, and for a few seconds, they just looked at each other before she turned back to help the rest of her group. Perhaps this’d be easier than expected, provided she wasn’t the only member of the prison group involved with Terminus.

Prompting Murphy forward with him, Connor led them both further into view. Most of the group he recognized, except for four. The first was hard to miss; heavily built with a crop of ginger hair and a moustache to match. He looked more like a kid’s action figure than a real person. The next was shorter than G.I Joe, with darker hair and a rounder face. Definitely not the face of someone who was used to the violence they’d just narrowly escaped. The last two were women, one younger than the other, who was busy helping people over the fence. Connor didn’t know either of them, but Murphy did. And judging by the look on her face, it was mutual.  Muttering to Connor, he nodded his certainty as he looked back at her, though by now she’d turned away from them.

When Carl noticed the brothers, his father was the first to hear about it, giving them a reason to fully come out of the shadows. The days on the road had taken their toll on the sheriff. His beard piled the years on and it would have been surprising if his sin wasn’t permanently stained from the blood and the grime that you picked up along the way. He hadn’t changed, but at the same time, he had by a lot. As he approached them, the twins came to meet him half way. They didn’t shake hands, but while Rick wasn’t displeased to see them, the greeting wasn’t exactly warm either. Then again, in the time they’d known him, that just seemed to be his way. Happy reunions were reserved for only those closest to him now – something they had in common.

“How long were you both up here?”

“Not long – we were in the area, heard the explosion an’ came runnin’. Got to the fence right before you all started climbin’ it.”

Not the whole truth, but not entirely a lie either. It’d do for now. After a glance back to the group, Rick looked back at them, his hands loosely on his hips.

“…I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but we’ve still got a place for you both if you want it.”

“We’ll take it. Thanks.” Connor’s answer came quickly, followed with a grateful half-smile. “We were havin’ trouble agreein’ on which 5-star hotel to stay at anyway.”

The comment didn’t look like it did much, but Rick’s expression lightened just enough, though only for a second or so. Soon enough it was back to business. He lead them all off, back along the fence in the direction Connor and Murphy had come. The brothers just tagged along in silence, apart from the occasional nod of acknowledgement to one of the others from the Prison group. It was good to see so many of them had made it out, and yet there were a few faces that were missing. Beth, Tyreese, Carol, the two little girls…better than expected, but still saddening either way.

Once they all came to a stop, they realized why they’d gone back. A bag of guns had been stashed away, and was now being hauled out of the ground once again. While its contents were given a once-over, Connor pulled Murphy to the side, lowering his voice and switching to Irish, given that the girl in question wasn’t stood too far from them.

“You’re sure about her?”

“I said so didn’t I? She was at Woodbury, with the Governor’s lot when they attacked the prison.”

Out of everyone there, she looked like the last one you’d expect to have been on the Governor’s side of things. She was young, in her twenties maybe, with short dark hair and large eyes set into lightly freckled skin. Connor wouldn’t have suspected a thing, but Murphy was set on it.

“So…what? You don’t wanna be here because of her?”

“Nah. We should stay.”

“But you don’t trust her.”

Murphy just shrugged – not a yes, not a no, just a typical Murphy answer when he didn’t want to be wrong.

“We’ll keep an eye on her, but she’s with Rick and his lot. Can’t be all that terrible…and besides - if you hadn’t been there the first time the Governor attacked, you would’ve been there when he did the second time round. Remember that before you go judgin’ her.”

Murphy shot him a dark look, but couldn’t argue, not that he had a chance to; following his brother’s nod, he realized what everyone was reacting to. Barely visible at first beyond the bear hug she was enveloped in was Carol. That was another of the prison group that had made it out in one piece - maybe it meant more were alive than the brothers had assumed. Maybe they’d been given a break and everyone was alright. When Daryl had finally pulled away and allowed her to speak to Rick, for a second she met Connor’s eye, and gave him a surprised, but weary smile.

When he caught him returning it, Murphy smacked his arm with the back of his hand, muttering something under his breath and earning a playful whack in response.

The group moved on swiftly after that, following Carol through the woods and finally onto a path she was clearly more familiar with than anyone else, until they reached a small wood cabin. It was almost annoying how close it had been to Terminus; it would have made a good shelter, had they known it was here. The door opened, and Tyreese stepped out with a baby held protectively in one arm. More specifically, it was Judith and for the first time in the past week, the group as a whole allowed themselves a minute to breathe and to smile. Good things were few and far between, and the knowledge that the youngest of them was safe made them all feel a little more hopeful.

This new development combined with their narrow escape from Terminus, it was decided that they’d rest up here for the night and get back on the road first thing tomorrow; something well received by everyone, though G.I Joe’s apprehension wasn’t lost on everyone. Clapping his brother on the back, Connor got up from where they were sat and walked away, leaving Murphy to his own devices for the time being. He wanted to find out more about the unfamiliar faces, and knew that while he spoke to them directly, he could leave Murphy to talk to those they already knew. Ask questions, get answers.

Nightfall came slowly, but once it did, it was something of a relief. Everyone was exhausted both in body and mind, and soon enough, the brother’s had to be careful not to speak too loudly. For a while they just lay on their backs side by side, with arms folded up behind their heads as the sky darkened and the clouds dissipated, revealing the spattering of stars against the vast expanse of black.

As they did when they were growing up, they’d play around with the languages they knew. One would say something in German, and the other would reply in Spanish, or perhaps French, and he in turn would get an answer in Italian or Irish. It was a good way to ward off eavesdropping, and a good way to practice the skills they’d spent years learning. But more so, it was something that was theirs. Something familiar. Even with the little effort needed to reply to one another, it also acted as a way to take their mind off of things.

When one of Connor’s went unanswered and he looked over to see Murphy asleep, he wasn’t far behind.

Somehow, Murphy woke up late the next morning – or at least, later than most of the others. Connor had been up for some time by the looks of things; what few things they’d had out the night before had been packed away, and he was held in quite the lively conversation with the girl from Woodbury before she’d gestured towards where they’d been sleeping. Murphy had barely sat up before Connor was giving him a light kick to the side, his reaction made all the funnier by the fact he was still heavy with sleep.

“Well _good mornin’,_ sleepin’ beauty” He said all too cheerfully, his grin accompanied by an obnoxiously thick Northern Irish accent. Taking a seat on the ground opposite where his brother was rubbing his side with a scowl, he didn’t bother to stifle a yawn of his own. As for Murphy, he didn’t know what annoyed him more – the accent or the fact the ground had been less than comfortable as a mattress.

“Where the fuck do you get the fuckin’ energy…and that fuckin’ hurt…”

Connor rolled his eyes as his own voice rolled back into its usual intonation.

“Murph, you’re me brother and I love you dearly – but grow a fuckin’ pair will you? I barely grazed you. Now come on, get up. We’re headin’ off soon.”

“Yeah yeah, alright…give us a hand up.”

Doing as asked, Connor patted his shoulder – an apology for the kick – and within the hour, the group was on the move.

 

For most of the trip, they stayed towards the back of the company, everyone travelling in pairs or small rows and talking amongst themselves. The boys were no different. When Murphy caught Connor scratching at the bullet wound, he’d gently swat his hand away. The thing was more or less healed, but the last thing they needed was him picking at it and making it worse again. The favour was returned if Connor caught Murphy biting his nails, for no reason other than he knew it’d piss him off.

They were only reminded of the place they were all leaving behind when they passed by one of the signs for Terminus – innocent looking enough, but in light of recent events, outdated and misleading. The others went by, while Rick stopped in front of it, modifying it to read ‘NO SANCTUARY’. This was only one sign out of who knows how many, but it would hopefully be enough to deter other survivors. The place was overrun – any sign of human life now would surely be risky, if not suicide.

That night meant that they had to set up camp in the forest once again, much to Murphy’s chagrin. But it passed by quickly and without note – a small silver lining when most of the daylight hours were spent walking or fighting, and night times spent sleeping with one eye open. This time, however, the brothers volunteered to take one of the watch shifts, replacing Sasha and Tyreese sometime after midnight.

Stationed at their posts – in this case, two trees standing side by side – the brothers made themselves as comfortable as they could. When Murphy’s fidgeting and obvious unwillingness to admit he was cold became too grating, Connor pulled off his jacket and balled it up, chucking it at his brother with a direct hit to his head. Suppressing a snigger, Connor motioned for Murphy to keep quiet, lest he wake someone up.

 “If you’re cold, put it on and stop fidgetin’. You’re like a damn six year old on fuckin’ sherbet powder.”

After a moment, he did just that, though the only thanks Connor got was a quick eye roll in the light of the camp fire’s remnants. The warmth from where Connor had been wearing it made his skin prickle with goose bumps under his shirt, the zipper coming up quickly to seal in as much as possible. It fit him well enough, though it would have fit properly if he somehow managed to get back to his regular weight. They’d both lost a lot of it over the weeks, which, while it wasn’t really at the forefront of their minds, was certainly noticeable. For now, the only thing Connor noticed was that Murphy was now sitting still.

“You sure you don’t want it?”

“If I needed it, I would’a kept it.”

“If you get cold, you’re not gettin’ it back”

“S’alright. I’ll just knock you the fuck out and take it then.”

Both were smiling now.

“How long’re we here for again?”

“Couple of hours.”

When Murphy bumped his head back against the tree bark with a heavy exhale, Connor stifled a yawn before whispering over to his sibling once again.

“If you’re tired, go to sleep. I’ll let’cha know if somethin’ starts chewin’ on your leg”

“Oh, thanks…that’s real comfortin’.” Murphy smirked, and shrugged a second later. “I’m good. Just bored, I guess...”

“Aye, me as well.”

With another look over the group, when Murphy noticed that not everyone was sleeping, he narrowed his eyes across the fire, opting to switch into Irish, just in case.

“What do you make of the new three?”

Connor frowned.

“Who?”

“Fuckin’ discount Hulk Hogan, the mullet and G.I Jane. The ginger one keeps lookin’ at me like a fuckin’ drill instructor, all fuckin’ intense like.”

“Oh yeah – they’re headin’ to Washington, might be  bringin’ the rest of the group with ‘em. Eugene – the guy with the mullet – he’s this fuckin’ super genius who’s gonna save the fuckin’ world.”

Murphy just looked at his brother for a moment, his expression the very definition of incredulity.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“Accordin’ to him? He knows how to cure whatever the fuck caused all this.”

“No fuckin’ way. That’s bullshit.”

“Maybe. Either way, that’s their whole thing. I dunno what Rick makes of it yet.”

“…What do you make of it?”

“Nothin’ yet. If it’s legit, then shit! We’re all fuckin’ saved. If it’s bull, then we keep calm and carry the fuck on like we have been.”

That sounded good for the time being, and for a little while, they were quiet, content to watch the embers of the fire burn and glow or watch the stars disappear behind clouds.

It was right before the end of their shift when Murphy spoke again, his tone much more subdued and uncertain than before.

“Conn”

“Aye?”

“Are we goin’ with ‘em? If the group go, are we goin’ as well?”

Connor opened his eyes, raised a lazy brow at his brother, and shook his head once.

“…Goin’ to Terminus was one thing…goin’ cross country? Different ball game entirely. If you’re not happy with goin’, I’m not goin’, and we part ways with the group till this blows over or we happen to see ‘em again. That sound good..?”

Connor couldn’t see in the darkness, but Murphy was smiling.

“…Aye. Sounds like a plan.”


	65. Good Samaritans

Murphy was one of the first to wake up the next day, though he soon wished that wasn’t the case; he didn’t know how much sleep he’d gotten in, but it felt like nothing as he squinted against the first light of morning. And of course, once you’re awake, you become painfully aware of how uncomfortable you are, of how stiff your neck is or how much your back aches longingly for a mattress. Of course, this didn’t stop him from trying to doze off again, but it was pointless.

Despite how much his body panged with discomfort, the coolness of the morning was something of a pleasant surprise. Perhaps it was just the hour, because usually when he awoke, a level of humidity had already settled in the air. For now, it was cool and light. Birds chirruped every now and then somewhere in the trees, with the breeze plucking loose leaves from their branches and taking them where it pleased. For a few moments, Murphy closed his eyes, and tried to just concentrate on what he could hear, what he could smell. Tried to soak in the quiet while it lasted.

It was a peaceful reminder that the Earth still lived, despite the world coming to an abrupt and blood soaked end.

 As he sat up, his joints cracking and popping with the motions, he groaned to himself, and looked over at where Connor was laying. He looked like he was completely dead to the world – until he muttered something, his voice scratchy from disuse, and just loud enough for Murphy to hear.

“Y’startin’ to sound like an old man, Murph…”

“Tsch. Fuck off – better than you at any rate.”

“Want me to make you a little walkin’ frame outta sticks?”

Murphy rolled his eyes, severely lacking the energy to rise to the bait any more.

“How long’ve you been awake..?”

Finally, Connor opened his eyes the tiniest crack, frowning as soon as he registered the light, looking at his brother from under heavy lids.

“Depends…how long’s it been since we left the prison..?”

Murphy just pulled a face of agreement. An exaggeration, yes – but that’s what it felt like. If you’d told them during their first week behind bars that one day in the future they’d miss their cells, they probably would have thought you’d lost it, or just laugh in your face. Now just thinking about the place being overrun with walkers with the fences torn down just struck him as a total waste.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Connor rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, not bothering to cover his mouth as he yawned, his words elongating along with it.

“Fuckin’ hell…pass us your water, will you”

“Might as well finish it…tastes nasty anyway.”

“I don’t give a shit, come on.”

Taking the half-empty bottle from him, it was then that Connor noticed the abrasion peeking out from Murphy’s hairline, the skin either red and angry like a bad graze, or dark with dried blood. It looked like it hurt, given how much it had swelled, and with his memory still stupid from sleep, it took him a minute to remember how Murphy had gotten it. It’d been the same incident that had given him the impressively sore lump on the side of his head.

“How’s your head?” He finally managed after gulping back the last of the bottle’s contents. Instinctively, Murphy reached up to touch it, fingertips cautious.

“S’fine…quit worryin’. You’re the one who got knocked out. Surprised y’haven’t got a concussion.”

“I’m not complainin’.” Connor replied with a grin. After a bit, he pushed himself to his feet, half-tugging on Murphy’s shirt sleeve as he went.

“Fancy a walk?”

With a quick scan over the sleeping camp, he pushed his hands into his pockets as he led them both into the forest, speaking quietly until they were out of earshot, though even then they managed to attract attention from the two sentries in their last hour of keeping watch.

Abraham – that was G.I Joe’s real name, as the boys soon learned, although the nickname would probably stick for the time being – and Rosita. Both turned to see who was up and walking around, and didn’t say anything when the brother’s realized they were being watched.  Both pairs just looked at each other for a minute, assessing through equally tired eyes. Neither party smiled or nodded ‘good morning’, and eventually, Connor was the first to look away, his smirk obvious enough as his arm lazily went around his brother’s shoulders, pointedly steering them both away. It was clear that the show acted more as a sign of indifference towards the two newcomers, to make it clear that while the others in the camp may accept and welcome the star-spangled military attitude, they did not. The group was the group. Connor and Murphy were just that. Being accepted in with the others was just an added bonus, but one they’d shown they could live without if push came to shove. Hopefully they wouldn’t clash with Abraham and have it come to that.

 They hadn’t spoken to either Rosita, Eugene or Abraham since they’d found the group again, and had no intention of doing so, for idle conversation at least. Eugene just seemed quiet and a little soft, but decent enough. Rosita could obviously handle herself. But Abraham, who watched everything and everyone like a hawk and walked around like everyone was operating under him…he wasn’t the type the boys had any interest in befriending. While Rick was acting as leader, the brothers were generally happy to follow his lead.

But as they’d moved away from Terminus and travelled with him, Murphy found he didn’t grow to like him much. Connor found him more funny than anything else – a perfect stereotype of a U.S Marine, and hard to take seriously. For Murphy, it was as it usually was; something just felt off with him. On the surface, despite the rough-around-the-edges exterior, he seemed alright. But Abraham had a way of dishing out opinions like they were gospel truth, very matter-of-fact and no nonsense, making even the smallest of requests sound like commands, like he was addressing a new flock of cadets. He had his plans and nothing would stand in the way of them. An admirable trait, maybe – hell, one that they shared to an extent - but neither Murphy or Connor took well to being ordered around. It was one thing for them to choose to do as they were asked, but another entirely to be told without any choice at all.

By the time they arrived back, people were up and busying themselves, whether it was with sorting through supplies to check what was left of what, or just stretching their legs to shake off the sleep that clung to them. Murphy was the first to notice that they were being approached. Connor wasn’t far behind.

“I take it you fellas enjoyed your stroll this morning.”

One brother made an effort to suppress his smirk. The other certainly did not, but smoothly covered it over with a reply.

“Oh, aye – lovely mornin’. Figured we’d make the most of the scenery an’ all that.”

It was clear that that Connor had no intention of taking him seriously, which only provoked the older man further. Perhaps luckily for all involved however, the conversation was interrupted early on by Glenn. When the three men had turned their attention to him, he realized he’d walked in on something and apologized.

“Sorry guys – Rick wants a word, when you’re done here.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in just a minute-”

“Nah. You go on – I think we’re done here.” Connor said, only just cutting Abraham off. It was excusable, but a slight none the less, and didn’t go unnoticed. After a moment or two of tension, Murphy urged his brother to follow him, pressing a hand to his shoulder, a murmured ‘come on’ breaking the awkward air.

With a glance behind, Murphy nudged Connor’s arm with his elbow.

“I’m thinkin’ you’ve made yourself an enemy there”

“Aye, and so early in the mornin’ too!”

They both sniggered at the comment as Connor came to a stop in front of their things, packing the blankets they slept on away.

“What d’you reckon he wanted anyway?”

“Oh fuck knows…probably wantin’ to know where we were goin’, what we were doin’…just wanted t’mess him around a little.”

“I think you’re off to a good start.” Murphy said, watching Rick and Abraham talk, not looking away when the sergeant looked over at them both with an almost palpable distrust. “You reckon it’ll stir things up..?”

“What do you mean?”

“With Rick and that.”

Connor just shrugged, still unsure of what Murphy meant. As if he read his mind, Murphy brought his voice down a notch.

“He didn’t say anythin’ about how we left the prison. I don’t know about you, but I know I can’t be fucked to deal with that right now.”

“Aye…I hear you. Look, just carry on like normal for now. If Rick says anythin’, then we deal with it. The guy just can’t handle people not respectin’ him right away, that’s all. Just wants to wave his dick around till we get the picture.”

“Don’t see why you’re complainin’ - here I was thinkin’ you _loved dick_ ” Murphy teased, though he was silenced just as quick by Connor shoving his bag into his chest with a smirk.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself? No seriously, go on. I’ll wait.”

X

Despite what Murphy had thought, the only time Rick spoke to them was to just check in, as he did with everyone. Perhaps Murphy had been paranoid about what Abraham may have said to him, if he’d said anything at all. They’d been walking for a few hours now, with the sun climbing higher and the conversations quiet but consistent. From their place at the back of the group – or close enough -the brothers could talk in relative privacy, and keep an eye on what they needed to. For Connor, it was the area surrounding them, and for Murphy, it was the company they were keeping. Maggie and Glenn were lost in their own world, with her smiling at whatever he was saying. Sasha and Bob were much the same. Daryl was at Carol’s side, though they mostly walked without many words exchanged. Rick, Michonne and Carl seemed to be the only exception to the unofficial ‘walking in pairs’ rule, with the three of them leading the pack with practiced ease.

However, due to the trio who insisted on staying several paces behind them, the brother’s had to fight the urge to try and get a rise out of the redheaded sergeant in the middle of the three. The one time Murphy made the mistake of letting him catch him glancing back at them with a boyish sneer was the only occasion that Abraham spoke to them again.

“You got something to say?”

“Nah, man. Jus’ checkin’ you’re still there. Wouldn’t want y’gettin’ lost on us.”

“Seems to me we’re the only ones here who know exactly where they’re going.”

“Ignore him. He’s just being a dick.”

Unfortunately, Rosita’s suggestion fell on deaf ears to all but Eugene, who looked as though he wanted to help mediate things, but knew it was best if he stayed quiet. Murphy just shrugged back at Abraham. “And where’s that? Back to asshole boot camp?”

“Been there, done that.” Abraham replied, quirking a smile at him, though there was no sense of jest to his tone. “But hey, at least I’ve got that under my belt. What’ve you got? A stupid, smug-ass grin and the inability to piss without your brother holding your hand.”

Connor had a grip on Murphy’s shirt sleeve before he could react, or perhaps before he could attract attention to the situation. Winding each other up was one thing, but he knew how quickly things would escalate if Murphy was in a fighting mood, which he appeared to be in. While the hand on his arm did the job of keeping Murphy walking and keeping the peace from shattering, it only made the man behind them laugh, as if his point had been proven. Clenching his fist a few times, Murphy acted as though he was in on the joke, his lip curling as if to accommodate the imitation of the other man’s amusement.

“Yeah, yeah – keep laughin’. It’ll be fuckin’ hilarious when a walker hears you and takes a chunk outta y’fuckin’ neck. Maybe that shuts you up, I’m thinkin’ that’d really do the fuckin’ trick”

“Murph.”

Connor met his eye with a look of early warning. But by this point, others in the group had begun to turn, their conversations trailing off when they realized something was rapidly unfolding at the back of the exodus. When she realized things were slowing down, Michonne tapped Rick’s shoulder, and nodded behind them.

“Looks like we might have a situation.”

Rick’s answer was sure, like that of a school master freshly out of patience and a new cane in hand. His answer was half said to himself as he made his way towards the back. “No, we don’t.”

Everyone had come to a stop now, despite both Connor and Rosita’s attempts to keep the argument at bay. Murphy was easy to provoke, and Abraham knew he was getting a rise out of him. It was a vicious circle. More petty insults had been exchanged and a jibe here and there, but it was only when Connor was mentioned again that things threatened to really kick off.

However, just as Rick had intervened and was about to start laying into them both, a sound suddenly rang out from somewhere to the right, immediately stealing everyone’s attention.

It was someone crying out for help, obviously desperate and panicked enough to disregard one of the cardinal rules of survival; staying quiet. The yells carried easily through the trees, and would surely bring walkers in from nearby in minutes. Urging his father forward, Carl looked to him expectantly.

“Dad! Come on!”

He only hesitated for a second before he was persuaded, and only a second more after that before he was giving everyone the nod to go to the man in need. For the time being, the argument had been pushed to the backs of their minds, or at least those who gave a damn.

The source was found quickly; a man had gotten himself effectively stranded atop a large rock, with several walkers swarming around the base, moaning up at him and grabbing at his legs and ankles, despite his frantic kicking and frenzied shouts to anyone who was close enough to show him mercy.

The walkers were dealt with easily enough, with Daryl, Rick and Carol moving in to put them out of their misery. Only once Rick had told him it was safe to come down did the stranger make a move, edging himself off of the rock and dropping to the ground like a nervous child climbing over a picket fence. It was then when he straightened up that the group noticed his clerical collar, something that suddenly had the brother’s far more invested in the situation. Connor had been telling his brother off, effectively – telling him not to be such a prat and not to make things worse – when Murphy had pointed it out to him.

They didn’t get a lot out of him at first – Rick had asked if he was alright and he’d vomited on the spot, turning heads away in disgust and sympathy. Straightening up, he held a hand up at chest height, speaking in a voice that sounded all too accustomed to gentle tones rather than the ruckus he was just causing, and an expression that looked far too scared for someone who’d apparently survived this long.

“…I’m sorry...” With an anxious look at the new, surrounding faces, he straightened out his jacket a little.

“…Thank you…I’m Gabriel”

 


	66. St Sarah's

They didn’t know whether to pity Gabriel or what – the guy looked like he’d only just stepped into this world, as if he’d had no idea about what people were turning into. While it made sense to be wary around strangers nowadays, he was so nervous and unsure, the brothers could tell from a look that they were thinking the same thing; how has he gotten this far, alone?

When Rick had asked if he was armed, he’d practically laughed at the idea. After all, in what kind of a world would a Pastor of all people need a gun?

“…I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need.”

When his answer was only met with sarcasm, he cleared his throat. It was obvious he was uncomfortable. For a man used to standing at the pulpit, evidently this new group of people looked more like a jury than his parishioners.

“I called for help, and help came – perhaps it wasn’t just chance that you all were nearby.”

 You didn’t need to look around to know people weren’t taking to him, and despite his own questions of faith, Murphy felt badly for the man. Belief in God wasn’t always taken seriously, and now it was almost seen as a fool’s errand. Looking at the world around them, how could anyone believe they were still operating under a God worth worshipping? Giving his brother a look, they decided the break the tension, if they could.

Stepping towards the front of the perimeter the group had formed, Connor made himself known, throwing the pastor a brief, but friendly smile. It was small, but it helped.

“How long have you been out here, Father?”

“Not long-”

“Do you have a camp around here?” Rick added, cutting off anything else Gabriel had to say, his tone of voice somewhat less patient. Gabriel glanced between the two of them, as if he was unsure who to answer to.

“I have a church”

A moment later, his arms were up as he was searched for weapons. As he patted him down, Rick began his three questions – the three that he asked anyone they met, or at least anyone they were considering allowing into the group. It was a way for him to read people. And judging by how many there were here, it’d worked so far. Both brothers remembered being asked them, way back when they’d first encountered one another, with Connor being taken out of ear shot first, and then Murphy. It was lucky they’d both been honest, or given similar answers at least, else things might have gone very differently for them.

Each of Gabriel’s answers seemed honest, but it was an honesty that was hard to believe now.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Not any.”

“How many people have you killed?”

This one he hesitated on – only slightly, but it was still there. “None.”

“Why?” Rick finally asked, looking for any sign that he was being lied to. It was almost frustrating that there was none.

“Because the Lord abhors violence of any kind.” Gabriel replied, as if it was odd that Rick didn’t already know that. The Sheriff just shook his head, somewhat incredulously.

“We’ve all done something. No one’s survived this long without doing something.”

With another glance at the faces around him, Gabriel looked back to Rick, his voice low but steady.

 “..With respect, I confess my sins to God. Not to you.”

While this wasn’t the answer Rick had been hoping to hear, it was clear there wasn’t much he could say to make Gabriel elaborate. So instead, Michonne decided to speak up instead.

“You said you have a church..?”

With a nod, grateful for the change of topic, Gabriel waited for Rick to decide what they were doing. And before long, he was leading them away from the rock, and through the forest. For a while, they all walked in silence, with the pastor occasionally looking back. A crowd of travel weary and stranger-cautious faces were all he was met with.

After handing a half-filled bottle of water to his brother, Murphy tried peering over the heads in front.

“I’ve gotta admit…” he said, leaning over to get a better look. “I don’t envy him. Poor bastard…”

Giving him a second to see, Connor gave him a nudge hard enough to have him walking straight again. “Aye, I hear that.”

“So…you think he was telling the truth back there?”

Both brothers turned to Tara, who’d sidled up next to Connor as they walked. Gabriel was too wrapped up in saying something to Rick or to Daryl to really hear them, but they were mindful to keep their voices low all the same.

“I reckon so. Then again…” Tugging his rosary out from under his shirt, he gave her a semi-playful smirk. “I’m just a little biased.”

“That doesn’t mean anythin’” Murphy muttered, half to himself, though not quiet enough for the two to miss. Glancing at his twin, he shrugged.

“Rick was a sheriff before all this went down and he’s done some shit. What you did before doesn’t mean anythin’ now.”

“You don’t trust him?” Tara asked. Murphy didn’t look at her when he answered.

“I didn’t say that.”

“He’s sayin’ that everyone’s on an equal field now.” Connor interjected, expecting some protest for speaking on his brother’s behalf. He got nothing.

“I get it. I guess he could be a psychopathic murderer and we might find out too late. But, judgin’ by what we saw back there..? Aye, I trust him.”

“I guess we only know what people want us to know.” She didn’t try to include Murphy when she next spoke; it was obvious he had other things on his mind. “So…what’d you guys do before?

Perhaps for the best, Connor didn’t have a chance to answer her properly. The church was very much real, and while small, would provide decent shelter for some time, if it all checked out. Though at this point, Gabriel would be hard pressed to turn them all away. That was, of course, assuming he really was alone.

“Saint Sarah’s…”

Murphy looked from the main building to the sign Connor was reading from, coming to a stop with him as Sasha and the others passed them. They’d all gathered by the front doors, although the boys couldn’t hear what was being said from where they were. But, even with Rick and Daryl and three of the other’s heading inside weapons first, being back to what he knew and what was familiar seemed to help the pastor relax a little.

While the church was checked out, Connor nodded around the side of the building, indicating he was going to have a look around. However, he didn’t get far - he’d barely gotten past the front before Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Carol and Michonne had stepped back out, and the keys were being handed back to their owner. At the mention of a bus somewhere around the back, Murphy wondered if maybe that had been what Connor was looking for. Either way, while the others headed inside, he jogged around to find his sibling, finding him quickly.

Pressing a hand to his brother’s back, Murphy brought him out of his thoughts, whatever they entailed.

“Conn – come on. We’re headin’ in.”

“Aye”

The interior of the church was very similar to the outside; simple in design and clean. For once, there was no blood or mess – no sign of looting or robbery. It made it seem all the more likely that Gabriel would be somewhat naïve about the world if this was the place he’d been hiding in since the new plague began.

People had soon found their own space on the floor, dumping their bags and rotating their aching shoulders in relief. The boys made themselves comfortable fairly quickly, with Murphy rolling up his shirt sleeves, and Connor taking in the place from the pew they’d claimed as theirs. The doors were closed behind them all, and like that, the church had become their home for the time being – whether that would be a night or a few days, they didn’t know. But it beat sleeping outside again.

Giving Judith back to Carl, Rick addressed the question most of them had been wondering since meeting Gabriel.

“How’ve you survived this long..?”

“Luck, mostly.” He replied with a slight smile. “Our annual canned food drive ended just before everything fell apart. It’s just been me since then…the food lasted a long time, and when it ran out, I began scavenging. I’ve cleaned out every place nearby, except for one.”

That had people listening, if they hadn’t been before. Frowning, Rick pressed him for more information. As it turned out, the store he was talking about was overrun with walkers - the last time he’d checked, there were at least a dozen, maybe more inside. Too many for one person, but with the potential of new supplies, a small herd of walkers weren’t anything the group hadn’t dealt with before. Rick nodded, already working out who should go with him. Sasha joined his side, looking back at Bob as she spoke up.

“We’ll go with you.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll draw you a map-”

“There’s no need. You’re coming with us.”

Although they couldn’t see his face, both Connor and Murphy could picture his expression. Sure enough, it’d fallen in seconds, hoping that Rick maybe hadn’t really been talking to him.

“…I’m no good around those things – you saw me back there, I won’t be any help to you.”

“You know the area.” Rick said bluntly. “You’re with us.”

“I’m guessin’ you don’t have a gun, Father – or, if you do, y’haven’t used it much.”

Both Rick and Gabriel had both turned now to face Connor, who’d since gotten to his feet and stepped towards them. The pastor shook his head.

“No…like I said, I have nothing like that here.”

Looking to Rick, Connor kept eye contact as he tried to reason with him.

“You’ll be takin’…what? Four, five people? There’s no reason for him to go. If anythin’ he’ll get in the way.” With a glance to Gabriel, “No offence.”

“He knows where we’re going.” Evidently, the challenge wasn’t one their leader had been expecting, nor was it appreciated. Still, Connor pushed it.

“He also said earlier the rock was the furthest he’d been from here since everythin’ went t’hell. If he’s cleared out the places around here and knows about walkers in the other store, then they can’t be far. With a map you’d be able to find it easily-”

“That isn’t your call to make.” Rick said, the words practically a growl. “He’s coming with us. End of discussion.”

Connor went to argue back, but Gabriel interceded, agreeing to leave with them, despite his whole demeanour saying he wanted to do anything but leave the church again.

Within the next half hour, five of the group were making their way back out into the world, with Gabriel nervously leading the way. Both Connor and Murphy had stayed behind, not that either of them were anxious to go to begin with. All they wanted was five minute to take a breath and relax a little. Although it was easy to see that Connor was concerned for Gabriel, luckily his mood didn’t take too much of a dive, at least where Rick wasn’t concerned at least. Opting to explore the back rooms of the church with Murphy, he pushed the disagreement to the back of his mind for the time being.

That being said, there really wasn’t much to explore – the first of the rooms housed a desk, though you’d have a hard time finding it under all the piles of books and papers and journals. One of the walls wasn’t much better; sheets of children’s coloured pictures, depicting the baby Moses or the burning bush or other biblical stories adorned the wall behind the desk chair. Tapping them with two of his fingers, he got his brother’s attention.

“If I manage to find a clean one for you, I’ll let you know Murph. See if that won’t keep you busy.”

He pulled a face and went back to looking through the papers, soon finding something to examine. It was a journal, and as Murphy flicked through the handwritten pages, he realized what it was. By the looks of it, Gabriel had been passing his time copying out the Bible, word for word. It was obviously just something to do, though the various Bibles and religious texts Connor found in the bookshelf negated its necessity somewhat. Turning to him, Connor gestured to the book in his brother’s hands.

“What’s that you’ve got..?”

Shutting it, Murphy shrugged. “Nothin’…wanna look outside?”

“Aye.”

It wasn’t that they thought there was anything to find outside; more that they both needed time to themselves – or rather, they needed time together, away from the others. Even though Daryl and Carol had gone off somewhere and Maggie, Glenn and Tara somewhere else, just being outside and not having to answer to anyone was enough. They soon found Abraham, Eugene and Rosita behind the church, fixing up an old bus. They hadn’t been spotted yet, so the brother’s turned back the way they came – after the near-argument with Rick, neither were eager to engage in a second round with the sergeant. Murphy could admit to being petty before, but it didn’t change his dislike of the other man. Connor just found the whole situation eye roll-worthy, but they both knew which side he’d be on if it came to it. No debate there.

They walked at a slow, leisurely pace – breathing in heavily and enjoying the fact that they wouldn’t be back on the road until at least tomorrow.

“Here’s somethin’ – let’s say all of this blows over tomorrow. All this shit gets turned over and everythin’ starts goin’ back to normal. What would you wanna do?”

Murphy wrinkled his nose in thought, scratching at his cheek absently as he did so.

“Dunno…you mean like, for a job?”

“Just in general. What would y’wanna do?”

“…Travel, I guess. Assumin’ we had the money.”

“Round America?”

“I don’t care much. Just feels like we haven’t really been anywhere.”

While that hadn’t been what he’d expected Murphy to say, Connor still liked the idea.

“Fair enough.”

“You..?”

“Dunno really…”

“No, please – don’t go into too much detail on my account.”

Connor went to give him a brotherly shove when he realized Murphy had stopped. “Fuck off, that’s the same answer you- what?”

“Check it out…”

Backing up a bit, Connor quickly found what his brother was referring to. Deep knife marks and scratches surrounded the window sill and the pane itself. And underneath, etched into the wood, were four words; YOU’LL BURN FOR THIS.

Running his fingertips over it, Connor looked around briefly to make sure they were alone.

“Wonder what the good Father Gabriel was up to then…”

“It doesn’t mean anythin’”

Murphy glanced at his brother. “You sure about that?”

Connor looked back at him, brows drawn together. He wasn’t sure, and it showed.

“No…”

“Are we tellin’ the others?”

“No. If they find it, then they can deal with it how they like. It could be nothin’.”

“Or it might not be…Connor, come on. You don’t know anythin’ about him.”

“Alright, how about you an’ Rick keep yourselves busy makin’ fuckin’ jackets for the ‘distrust in humanity’ club, Murph – but I’m not throwin’ him under the bus for somethin’ that could be anythin’.” Connor snapped.

“Conn, calm down…Jesus.” Lowering his voice a little, Murphy tried again.

“I’m not sayin’ we burn him at the fuckin’ stake. We just don’t know what we’re dealin’ with yet, you know that. He’s probably decent as you or me, I’m not arguin’ that. But a white collar and rosary doesn’t mean there’s no skeletons in his closet.”

“I know, I know…but the guy’s a fuckin’ Priest, Murph. Sue me for-”

“Hey – everything okay..?”

When they both turned around and saw Rosita watching them, they answered practically in unison.

“Aye.”

She didn’t look like she believed them, and for an awkward second or so, she just stood there. When she finally left them to it, it was like they’d narrowly escaped getting caught stealing. Taking a breath, the two decided to leave the subject be for now. Like Connor said; if it came up later, that’s when they’d deal with it. Until then, it’d play on both their minds, gradually slipping to the backs of them as they found other things to distract themselves with.

They were only reminded of it when the supply group returned – all sopping wet, but with more than enough food to keep them all going to some time. Gabriel was quiet and shaken, and the boys didn’t need to even look at each other to know that neither of them had the heart to confront him about the scratches at the windows and the scratches in the wall.

 


	67. See Bob Fall

That evening brought about a welcome change in mood – with their supplies renewed and the church secured for the night, the group took the rare chance to rest up and relax. Weapons were kept close by, but for the first time in days, it was mugs and glasses being held up in cheers instead of shotguns and rifles. Each with a plate or bowl of food to go alongside the wine they’d cracked open, they all found a space on the floor or took up a pew, finding it easier now to let themselves breathe for a while. Candles were lit to save what battery life their torches had left, and as people ate more and moods began to lift, the conversations gradually became happier, more animated.

Daryl and the brothers were the last to join the others after the final checks of the doors and windows had been made, but it was already clear that the atmosphere was one of respite. Looking from one person to the next as he shrugged off his jacket, Murphy noticed that most were actually smiling, whether it was due to something they were being told, or something they themselves were saying. Perching on the edge of one of the pews near the front, he caught sight of Carl and his family. Judith was in her father’s lap, and in a rare moment indeed, Rick was smiling with her. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen Rick smile properly, let alone laugh. The weight of the responsibilities he’d taken on were burdensome, and had taken their toll over the months. It made the moment that much more uplifting.

Murphy didn’t stare – in fact, he only watched for a second or so before Connor was tapping his arm, handing him his share of that evening’s meal. With just a look, he asked if he was alright – and with a nod and a half smile, Murphy had given his reply.

Despite everything, neither of the brothers could be bothered to remember what they’d found etched into the wall of the church; not one person here was without sin, and far be it from them to cast the first stone – Gabriel had given them sanctuary without trouble, and nowadays, that went a long way. If it ever became relevant, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it, but until then, there was no reason why, even for an evening, they couldn’t cut him some slack. Moving from the pew to the floor, Murphy rolled his shoulders back in their sockets, and cracked his neck gingerly to the side. He ached what felt like everywhere, and now that he was down, he wasn’t entirely certain he’d be able to get back up again.

By the time Connor had joined his brother on the floor, Murphy was already halfway finished. When you’ve gone for so long without eating regularly, when something vaguely edible’s put in front of you, you underestimate just how good it can taste. Even when paired with a cautious reminder not to eat too quickly, his plate was cleared in minutes. The relief from the constant, dull ache in his belly was one he missed, and judging by how Connor rested his head back against the pew behind them moments later, his own empty plate in hand, the feeling was shared.

“Fuck me…”

“Least buy me a drink first.” Murphy smirked, only certain that Connor heard him at all when he got a hit to the arm.

“You’re fuckin’ sick…”

“Part of my charm.” He replied, dark-ringed eyes flitting from his brother to the ceiling of the church. “Can’t say I’m not happy about havin’ a roof over our heads for once-”

He was interrupted by the gruff sound of someone clearing their throat, the rest of the conversations fizzling out one after the other like a row of dominoes. It was Abraham, and he didn’t need to finish his opening sentence for the brother’s to cast a glance at one another, brows raising and smirk’s pricking at their lips. Perhaps luckily for them, their lack of attention to the sergeant’s speech went largely unnoticed. And for the most part, what he was saying went unnoticed to them. It was only when Connor heard him mention Washington again that he nudged Murphy to pay attention. He went on about how they were all ‘survivors’, that they’d earned the title for themselves.

“The fuck’s he gettin’ at…” Murphy hissed under his breath once Abraham had turned away from them. He’d meant it rhetorically, but Connor answered all the same, mentally tipping the scales of his proposition this way and that.

“He wants everyone t’go with ‘em…tsch. He can give a pep talk, I’ll give ‘im that.”

Once again, Murphy frowned at his brother, following his eye line across the group. People were nodding in agreement, others smiling at the idea of the plague finally being brought to an end. To Connor and Murphy, it simply sounded like a fantasy; like they were so starved for hope of what used to be, they’d grab at straws, no matter how short. They’d argued about Terminus between the both of them, but that was a day or two’s worth of travelling. What Abraham was proposing was Washington; several weeks on foot, if not more – and for something none of them had any evidence of being real. All they had to go on was the word of the podgy guy with the bad haircut and the social skills of a teaspoon, and the fierce defence of his ginger guard dog.

As soon as they were able, the brother’s had taken their leave, eager for some fresh air and the chance to go over what they’d just had to sit through. Jackets were pulled on and hands reacquainted with their weapons of choice as they headed out the back route, watching for walkers as they stepped out into the cold. While neither of them were keen on travelling to Washington, losing contact with Rick and his group wasn’t a prospect to take lightly. Numbers were their safest option, although the more they talked it over, the clearer it became that they’d be travelling alone together much sooner than anticipated. Whatever happened, they’d adapt. They always did.

“If they’re all goin’ that way, where’re we headed..? Back South? Or Boston?”

Connor pushed both of his hands through his hair, shrugging as he did so. It was growing out quickly, and as it flopped down into his face when his hands came away, it was apparent he was well on his way to shaving it off.  
  
“Don’t know...Boston’s a hell of a trip.”

“Unless we get a car, anywhere’s gonna be a fuckin’ trip.”

“Touché….Alright…” Slapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, “Boston it is then.”

Just like that, they had a plan. Perhaps it’d change within the week, but it was what it was. The brother’s gradually made their way around to the front of the church, slowing when they heard someone heading out of the main entrance. It was Bob, but it quickly became clear that something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t respond when Connor caught his attention, just looked away and continued on his way. His walk was strange and rigid, like he hadn’t used his legs in a while, as though they were as distracted as their owner.

Murphy nudged Connor with his elbow as he pushed his hand into his pocket, nodding towards the third man.

“Where’s he goin’..?”

“Dunno…”

They both watched as he reached the fence surrounding the Church, fully expecting him to slow to a stop, but he didn’t. Instead he turned, and began to make his way into the woods. As he disappeared, the boys looked to one another, and without a word, headed out after him.

 

Murphy was the first to feel it, with Connor not far behind.

It was far too quiet, save for their own breaths and the sounds of the dirt and leaves underfoot. Bob continued to ignore them, vacant and distracted, and after some time they got close to turning around and leaving him to it. Then Murphy had stopped, shushing any questions with a sharp exhale, holding out his hand to tell Connor to wait. At first, there was only an eerie stillness that had settled around and above them, but it was accompanied by the feeling that they weren’t alone out here. That it wasn’t just the three men, wandering and following in the dark. And then they’d both heard the thud, and the grunt of effort that came with it, and by the time they’d turned, Bob was already on the ground. Someone was doing their best to collect him, obviously struggling with the task at hand, perhaps not expecting him to weigh as much as they’d been expecting.

The boys made themselves known very early on, not bothering with pleasantries. Murphy had his gun pressed to the back of the strangers head, while Connor came around to face him. Looking around carefully as he spoke, mindful to keep his voice down, his tone left little room for negotiation.

“Drop your piece.”

He did as asked, and Connor collected it.

“You should know, this is a friend of ours – and you knockin’ him out…that strikes me as pretty fuckin’ rude”

“Don’t kill me.”

“Won’t have to, if you tell us a couple’a things. You alone?”

He stayed quiet for that one, only answering when Murphy pushed the tip of the barrel harder against his scalp.

“…No.”

Shooting his brother a look, Connor had another glance around, like he was expecting someone else to pop out of the trees.

“What’re we doin’, Connor?”  
  
“Takin’ him with us.” He replied, motioning to their hostage. “You got him?”

“Aye.”

“Alright – I’ll get him. Now you be on your best behaviour; don’t wanna piss off the others too quick.”

Giving the stranger a condescending clap on the shoulder as he was prompted to his feet, Connor hoisted Bob over his shoulder, and the four made their way back towards St Sarah’s.

As soon as they entered the church, the faces of everyone gathered inside all mirrored one another as they noticed the dark haired man leading this impromptu procession. Connor took Bob to the front, putting him on the floor as carefully as possible as Sasha and a few others made a space for him. Once she was satisfied he was breathing and he wasn’t bleeding too badly, Sasha rounded on Connor, her voice full of bite and her eyes torn between him and the man they’d brought in with them.

“What the hell happened out there?”

“He went wanderin’ off, we followed him, then that guy came outta nowhere, clocked him one-”

“…He just came out nowhere. Just, randomly appeared and knocked him out?”

If she was trying to make it sound like she believed him, she was doing a piss-poor job of it. Connor just shrugged with a defensive scowl.

“Hey, you want a second opinion, I’m sure our friend over there’s got a story for you.”

If she had anything else to say to him, he didn’t give her the chance. Letting Rick past with the stranger in tow, Connor joined his brother again, and watched as the others surrounded the man in a loose circle. They reminded him of the Raptors from ‘Jurassic Park’ – granted, it’d been years since he’d watched the film for the first time, but the image of the protagonists being stalked and herded by the hissing creatures. They both knew they’d either get information from him, or he’d be killed – as of ten minutes ago, he’d begun to walk a tight rope he likely hadn’t been prepared for.

As they joined the outskirts of the circle, Rick put him on his knees, his hands up behind his head. In the candle light, they could see he was around thirty or so, with sunken dark eyes, half hidden by his tangled mane of hair. Wholly forgettable.

He didn’t talk much, and what he did say wasn’t helpful in the least. The only thing they managed to get from him was that he was part of another group not far from here. Other than that, the harder Rick pushed, the more he clammed up, until Glenn took a step forward. Pushing black hair out of his face, he took a final close look at the guy, not taking his eyes off of him as he spoke up.

“…Rick – he’s from Terminus.”

And just like that, the mood in the room shifted dramatically. The brother’s just glanced at each other, unsure of what that simple sentence had meant for the others in the room.

The realization seemed to dawn on Rick as the words left Glenn’s mouth, and just as fast, hands were finding weapons; not drawing them, but simply having their presence reassured as the man smirked to himself.

“Where are they? Where are the rest of them?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, man…you’re so fuckin’ dead, and you don’t even know it.”

A snarl of frustration flashed across the sheriff’s face. If it was one thing he hated, it was being messed around; having people be vague and think they were so funny with their idle threats. If he’d been honest and succinct, perhaps Rick would have gone easier on him. If he cooperated, there wouldn’t have been a good reason for things to escalate. Straightening out of the crouch he’d adopted, Rick motioned for Carol and Tyreese to take the man into one of the back rooms, before seeking out the brothers who had brought him in.

“Did he say anything while you were out there? About his group, or where they are?”

Both of them shook their heads.

“All he said was he wasn’t alone. After that, he was a fuckin’ mute.”

“They won’t be far out from here.” Murphy added. “He was by himself, as far as we could tell. Wouldn’t head into the woods alone if you didn’t think you could run back for help quick.”

“You think he’s tellin’ the truth..? About havin’ a group at all?” Connor said with a shrug. “Could be a pack of lies, makin’ us hesitate.”

Rick shook his head.

“No…he’s not alone. And I don’t think they’re that close.”

“If there was someone else out there with him, they kept pretty fuckin’ quiet-”

“…So they could go back, warn their group.” Connor interrupted, glancing quickly from Murphy to Rick, who looked like he’d reached the same conclusion.

“Get those doors secured, and give any others another check. We need a plan here, need to make sure everyone’s ready.”

“Consider it done.”

Murphy wasn’t sure whether to smirk or frown at his brother’s willingness to take orders, but he left it alone as Rick posed them another question, only a few feet away before remembering to ask it at all.  
  
“Was Daryl with you out there? He left a little after you two, didn’t say where he was headed.”

Both frowning now, the brother’s shook their heads.

“Didn’t see ‘im”

The look that came over Rick was more irritation than it was concern, but he said nothing else as he headed back towards the front of the church – towards the altar, and to where Bob was gradually being revived. However, as the brothers exchanged a few words and followed after him, it became obvious that something else had happened in the short amount of time that had passed.

As Bob came around, he opened his eyes to Rick crouching next to him, and pulling the collar of his shirt back, to reveal a fresh walker bite.


	68. What we're capable of

“You said there were no walkers!”

“Because there weren’t.” Connor had replied evenly, stepping back when Sasha had come at him. “That must’ve happened before, when you lot were out.”

Clearly not what she’d wanted to hear. But it was all Connor could offer her in light of the discovery. Had it not been for Maggie, Sasha may well have lashed out then. It only took three words and a gentle hand on her arm to pull her attention away from Connor and back to Bob; “He’s waking up.”

 

Perhaps if the bite had been on a limb, they could have gotten him help. Could have administered the same brutal, lifesaving treatment Hershel had been subjected to. But then, such was the world they now inhabited. Neither of the boys knew what had happened when the others had been out on the run, or how Bob had been bitten with no-one knowing. But it was clear he was on borrowed time. They sat him up, got him talking, and Connor’s theory was confirmed. It had happened at the food bank, and as the penny dropped, everyone’s faces gently fell into something clasped between pity and sorrow, and tinted with a small, selfish amount of relief that it hadn’t been them this time. Neither Connor nor Murphy knew Bob well, but they stayed where they were for now.

Despite everyone being present as he explained himself through laboured breaths, to Murphy it increasingly felt as though they shouldn’t have been there. Like none of them should have been there except for Sasha. These people were his group, his friends, and it stood to reason that Bob would want them all there while he was still lucid. But with a small, unreturned glance at Connor, Murphy knew for certain then that he didn’t want half a dozen people around him when he was served his death sentence.

It was only when Gabriel offered his sofa to make Bob more comfortable that the strained tension relaxed somewhat, giving people the permission to straighten up, to do something with themselves while they joined the countdown until they were called into the office to say their goodbyes. As Bob was moved into the other room, booted footsteps accompanied Abraham’s voice, leaving everyone else little choice but to turn and listen.

“We’re leaving for D.C, right now.”

The twins both looked to Rick for his reaction, because they both knew already what each other’s would be. Rick was, predictably, not in the mood for whatever kind of stunt Abraham was starting to pull. And as their conversation escalated and their voices raised, it became clear that for once, the larger man’s plan wasn’t so logical. He wanted to get Eugene away from the immediate danger; only, that was the problem. Stepping outside was an immediate danger, regardless of whether or not you had a bus to argue over.

Tilting his head closer to his brother briefly, Murphy muttered to him, and got an unimpressed sound of agreement in return; “Gotta hand it to the guy; he picks his fuckin’ moments.”

 

And just like that, in a matter of minutes the plan had changed once again. For the next 12 hours they would have Abraham and Rosita’s help, and after that, their group would lose Glenn and Maggie. Not something Rick was at all pleased with, but the situation he was faced with now forced him to cross that bridge if and when they came to it. Assuming that their job had remained the same since they brought Bob back, the boys went about finding things to secure the door with, Murphy only saying anything when they were out of hearing range.

“How d’you think this’ll go down?”

“Ideally, or realistically?”

Murphy gave him a look, and Connor answered him again.

“Messily.”

“Figures.”

 

“Change of plan”.

The brothers turned in unison as Michonne walked down the aisle – and for a very short moment, for no reason in particular, Connor wondered if she’d ever walked one before, though granted it’d be in the opposite direction. Murphy joined Connor’s side as she came to a stop in front of them, giving her a frown.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“A few of us are heading out – we’re going to try and find the rest of his people. We’ll need those doors accessible”

Neither of the brothers liked the plan, but it was Connor who spoke up against it first, a look shot towards Murphy as he did. Murphy didn’t need to say anything for him to know that they were thinking the same thing.

“Seperatin’ the group and leavin’ the doors unsecure – that doesn’t exactly sound promisin’.”

“What do you suggest?”

While it was posed as a question,  there was little room for anyone to assume she wanted an answer. Which was exactly why Murphy picked that moment to take his turn and speak up.

“Doin’ what Rick said in the first placed; barricadin’ ourselves in here and waitin’ for them to come to us. All you lot leavin’s gonna do is make this place vulnerable – walkers, whoever the fuck else is out—”

“The guy you brought in - he told us where the rest of his group are.” Michonne interrupted without much more than a glance at the Irishman, who shared another look with his brother. “It’s a short walk from here; we’re going to hit them before they have the chance to do it to us.”

“That’s a hell of a risk- Rick’s willin’ to do that?”

“We’re about to discuss it.”

It was phrased as a statement, but her tone suggested it was more of a command – one that neither man had the energy to argue with. They joined the rest at the front of the church, with Connor leant against the pew his brother had chosen to sit on. It turned out quickly that they weren’t the only one who had concerns about this plan’s fairly obvious cracks. Then again, it would be hard to be happy with either position in this situation; stay in a severely under-manned church and hope that the hunters weren’t too heavily armed, or go out wandering into the dark and hope that the plan to trap them worked. With another scan of the group, it was an easy enough guess who was going and who was being left. Carl was holding his sister when Connor caught sight of him.

Rick had finally named those who were to follow him, but not everyone was as willing to go as he had first assumed.

Scratching at the nape of his neck, Connor shook his head and spoke up, cutting Rick’s sentence in two. “I’m stayin’.”

After a pause, several members looked to Murphy then, although they already knew what his answer would be as Rick turned his attention to the second brother.

“And you?”

“I go where he goes.” And he shrugged.  “Connor stays, I stay.”

There was a brief pause as Rick thought it over. They wouldn’t be left here long, but that was only partially why he was hesitant for them to stay behind. “We could use your help when we’re coming back.”

Connor nodded, but his answer stayed the same. “And if things go badly here, you’ll be glad we stayed behind.”

 

In retrospect, the plan had worked beautifully. Those who had chosen to do so had armed themselves and gone off in search of this new enemy’s camp, and those who stayed, stayed. And it hadn’t been long at all before the noise of the front doors being kicked open, and heavy footsteps spreading between pews and up the aisle dug at the silence like a hound at a fox hole. Every sound echoed throughout the seemingly deserted church, hanging from the rafters an eerily few seconds too long. It was dark, save for the moonlight streaming in from the window of stained glass stationed before them all.

From the back room, the few who remained kept still in their places, as if the creak of a joint or the slightest scuff of a shoe against carpet would give them away. Murphy was sat closest to the door, listening to every movement, concentrating, figuring out how close the strangers were to finding them. Connor alternated his glances from the door, to his brother, to the others sharing the space with them. Judith must have been sleeping, given how quiet she was, assured in the assumption that she was safe in her brother’s keeping. Bob was unconscious now, and Tyreese sat with him. Gabriel had found a corner and appeared to be praying, hands damp with sweat and his expression practically frozen into one of anxiety. It made Connor wish he’d asked about what they’d found carved into the church wall when he’d had the chance.

“I guess you know we’re here…And we know you’re here, too.”

The voice carried easily, sending a slight startle through those closest to the door. It could hardly have been classed as anything more than a flinch, but still Connor pressed a palm between Murphy’s shoulder blades; both of them had guns in their hands; letting the intruders make them twitchy was the last thing they needed. The voice continued to address them, calm and collected and …smug, almost. Especially so when it said that it knew the entire group wasn’t there.

“We saw them leave – with most of your man power, and your guns. You know…it wasn’t a great plan. Because now we know who’s been left behind. There’s… _Bob,_ unless you’ve already put him out of his misery…”

Whether they meant to or not, even in near-darkness the survivors looked to one another, every name that was listed off adding to the already rapidly building tension. Connor, Murphy, and Rosita were the only names that went unmentioned. Perhaps that was the Brightside to not having made it to Terminus. The boys didn’t know what had happened there or what these new people were capable of, although now both were wondering what exactly it was they were up against.

The man on the other side of the door continued to talk; offering them mercy if they surrendered now. Telling them that they wouldn’t be hurt if they just gave up their guns – even addressing Gabriel himself, adding to the deal by telling him he could take Judith and neither would be harmed. In his corner, Gabriel just clasped his hands tighter, resting his furrowed brow against them in the hopes that the next time he raised his face, this would be over.

With his hand still splayed against his twin’s back, Connor couldn’t be sure if the heartbeat he could feel was his or Murphy’s – it was so quiet in the office it was almost certain that the sound of his blood pounding in his ears would eventually give them away. He knew to stay calm; knew to use the adrenaline to his advantage like they had so many times in the past; crawling in the vents in the Russian’s hotel, letting themselves into the strip joint – breaking Murphy’s hand in order to escape Yakavetta’s place. He knew Murphy wouldn’t do anything stupid, but he could feel how tense he was; coiled like a too-tight spring, and knew that if that door came down in the next second, he’d become a jack-in-the-box and bullets would fly.

The door handle rattled then, turning and resisting noisily against the lock. Rosita simply shifted her shotgun so that it sat more comfortably in her hands. No one else moved.

“We’re going to give you one last chance to come out.” The voice continued, though it sounded a little further away now, perhaps at the door over on the other side of the church. “This isn’t a big place, and we’ll find you one way or another. Just come out. We’ll let you walk out of here.”

When the handle rattled again, Murphy moved away from it a few inches, his grip on his weapon tightening. Only this time, it was Judith’s crying that filled the air. It was a second before Carl got to her to try and quiet her down, but by then it was too late. Their rock was about to be unturned, and the only thing they could do was wait for the door to be shot down or kicked in.

But neither happened. Something landed with a ‘thud’ against the wall, but the door remained intact. It took them all a second to realise that they were no longer outnumbered, nor out gunned, and although this had been the riskiest part of the plan all along, Connor had to admit it worked well.

“Put down your guns, and kneel.”

It was Rick this time, and just like that, the tables turned in their favour. A shot rang out and the first man yelled, and Connor felt Murphy relax that much more. When he finally turned back to him, Murphy gave a side nod to the door, his voice barely a whisper.

“Listen.”

The guy was talking – or, perhaps appealing was a better word – his words shaking as they pushed themselves out of him. He was in pain, though they couldn’t tell how badly he’d been shot. Only that now, he was making the same promises that anyone in his position would make, and giving the twins unintentional clues as to what crime he and his people were guilty of. Murphy looked to Connor again, like he could fill in the gaps of what happened at Terminus. Connor could only make an educated guess. And like the circumstances back at the house when they’d been on the road alone, the thought of it made him sick.

Only a few more words were exchanged before the beatings had started. The dull cracks and blows of metal hitting bone and flesh repeatedly, the yells and pleas going from words to incoherent sounds, and then finally, silence fell.

 

Tyreese had been the one to open the door first, and gradually, they had filed out of the office and into the body of the church. Moonlight glinted off of pools of blood and spatters that coated the floor and the butts of shotguns alike, and while it wasn’t the worst scene any of them had been exposed to by any means, it was jarring none the less. As he looked down at the bodies of the men, Connor was reminded of the fact that while they had been capable of terrible things, so was everyone else present. There were only two kinds of people now; the living and the dead. And the men that lay bloody at his feet were no worse than he or Murphy or Rick.

This new world they inhabited, the world of the dead, it changed everyone. A different kind of virus. Only some, evidently, it killed faster than others.

For a minute they all just stood there, either catching their breath or looking to Rick as he spoke. Only five words, but it was all they needed.

“It could have been us.”


	69. Wearin' down

Time was a strange thing when you had no way of telling how fast it was passing.

Daryl had returned from Atlanta with news, and with a new addition; Noah, a teenager who had made it back from the hospital Beth and Carol were being held in. Of course, the group had planned to go and get them both back. Maggie had been overjoyed that her sister was still alive. And until the last moment, the plan had worked well. It had worked, until it hadn’t, and with one shot, Beth was gone. Things changed after that. Death could take any of them at any time, but somehow the fact it had been someone still so young shook the group to its core.

The city of Atlanta had been left behind for a reason. There had been nothing about it that felt familiar any more, not to Rick at least. That hadn’t been a trip that any of them were eager to remember as the days turned to weeks, and while their numbers seemed steady at a glance, Beth’s absence was a heavy weight on everyone in its way.

 

The fact that the church was only a temporary place to stay wasn’t news to anyone, but as the group had gathered themselves and their few belongings together and left St Sarah’s behind, several were hesitant to give up the four walls and the barricaded doors, Gabriel especially. As they’d moved out early in the morning, it was the hand on his shoulder had finally prompted him to leave with the rest. Connor said nothing to him, and he didn’t say anything back. There wasn’t anything to say; only that the Father finally had to face the world that he’d hidden from for so long.

 

The days were long and the nights felt longer, and by the time they arrived at the community of Shirewilt, the prospect of potential supplies and a place to rest that wasn’t the back seat of a car was inviting.

Five of the group went in to search for supplies. Only four went on to travel with the rest. After they buried Tyreese, morale was low, and each of them kept to themselves where possible. After the past three weeks, the idea of Washington was one of the only things they had to look towards. It wasn’t much longer after that before fuel ran out completely, and like everything else, they were forced to leave them behind. Passing the time between the boys was easy enough, but even Murphy found it hard to kid around as the days trudged by. Their conversations were held in quiet voices so as not to annoy anyone walking ahead of them, not that they had the energy to be any louder. Sometimes they’d talk in French or Spanish, or any of the languages they knew to keep themselves distracted from how wretched they felt. If the mood of one started to dip, the other would try to bring them back up, even if was just an arm around the shoulders. Right then, the smallest thing was better than nothing.

 

They ended every evening the same way; hurting and exhausted and in need of everything they couldn’t have. Coffee. Showers. Beds. Food that wasn’t tinned. By the time their camp had been made and secured for the night, those who could fall asleep did so easily. Some tried to pretend. The rest didn’t bother, knowing sleep would take them sooner or later. Connor was one of the luckier ones, who was out like a light the second he managed to get vaguely comfortable. Murphy, not so much. So he let his mind wander. He thought about everything that had happened until now, and how some things seemed like so long ago. The prison, Woodbury – it all felt like it’d been years, not weeks or months. He thought over what had happened at St Sarah’s, with the group from Terminus and what Gabriel had confessed to them. He and Connor had gotten their answer to what the scratched letters on the side of the Church meant, and it had stayed with Murphy since. The idea of purposefully locking people out with the walkers, people that you know and care for…it disturbed him. It told him he was right to be wary of the priest, and yet, the fact Gabriel was so torn up and sorry for it…it kept Murphy from shunning him. He knew Connor didn’t like what he’d done, but held the view that he wasn’t an innately bad person. He was alive, and he was filled with remorse. That was enough to make Connor want to give him a chance. What Rick thought about it, neither of them knew, but Gabriel was still with them. That said something.

 

Daryl had volunteered to stay awake and keep watch first, and was sat close by when Murphy had joined him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words at the best of times, but right then that had suited them both fine. Murphy was down to his last two cigarettes, saved with the last of his will power for when they were needed the most. He knew Connor would kill him if he took one for himself and gave the other away, so he replaced one in the pocket of his jeans, and found his lighter. It was a cheap, plastic thing he’d found, but it did the trick nicely. After he’d taken a drag, he held it out to the other man. After a moment, he finally moved to take the offer with a nod. Their conversation was hardly that, but it was something. Just before he’d gone to wake up Michonne, Daryl had broken the silence again, his voice low and hoarse.

“Any of your prayers workin’ out yet?”

Murphy took in the last of the cigarette as it was handed back to him, and snubbed the end on the tree trunk behind him, giving him a tired look in the dark. He didn’t know if Daryl was expecting an answer or not, but just then Michonne had quietly made herself known, letting Daryl know he could take a break. Without a word, both men got up, and made their separate ways to opposite sides of the camp. Murphy managed to get some sleep, but when Connor woke him the next morning, ‘some’ hadn’t nearly been enough.

 

The nights were cold, but it didn’t take long for the temperature to rise as the morning became noon. Palming the sweat from his forehead, Murphy offered the last of his water to his brother, gladly swallowing it back when Connor shook his head. It was hot and offered little relief from the scorching heat, but it was better than slowly dehydrating; and it gradually became clear that that was a reality they’d be facing much sooner than any of them expected. Their supplies were running dangerously low, and they were all exhausted from walking. Washington was still the group’s plan, and yet it was starting to feel more like a mirage, a pipe dream. And as much as the brothers hated to think about it, Boston was starting to feel the same way. That was their end game, but neither had said anything more about it since that evening in the Church. After the attempted attack by the survivors of Terminus, giving up the safety that the group’s numbers offered felt like an act of pure stupidity. Not that now was the best time to be thinking of leaving anyway. They were at their weakest point until they found a source of clean water; going their separate ways now would get them both killed. For the time being, Boston was put to the backs of their minds, and Washington became the shared goal.

There seemed to be nothing but road and forest ahead of them. The walkers they encountered were put down as quickly as they could manage, but soon the group were being followed by a small, shambling herd of the dead, too slow to catch up to them. It was only when they reached a small bridge that Rick stopped them, taking a look down the banksides. The plan was simple enough; let the walkers get close and just push them down into the gorge. None of them had the energy to spare on putting them down any other way, so they split in half, and waited at either side of the bridge until the walkers came close enough to put Rick’s idea to work. Only the last few were met with brute force, and that was only after Sasha somehow deemed it necessary.

 Neither of the brothers knew her well enough to know what was going on inside her head, but the deaths of Bob and Tyreese so close together had done something irreparable to her. That much was clear. The twins had no idea how many remained of their family back in Ireland. Their chief concern since everything had happened had simply been each other, and so while they didn’t know Sasha like Tyreese had, they could, in their own way, sympathize.

 

It was another couple of miles before they all opted to stop and rest at the roadside. As they all sat down one by one, Murphy and Connor’s bag hit the ground as they both all but collapsed into heaps. Sweat saturated their clothes and hair, and their feet and legs ached like nothing they’d felt before. For a minute there was just groans of relief and winces as stiff shoulders were rolled in their sockets. When Murphy laid back, his rest was cut short seconds later by Connor shifting over and using his stomach as a pillow. Lifting his head long enough to see the smug grin on his brother’s face, Murphy did his best not to smile, but failed when he tried to shove Connor away and he just shimmied up, pinning him down harder. Apparently, being a little shit to ones sibling takes less energy than either had first assumed.

 

“Connor, get the fuck off.” Despite his weary protests, his efforts to make his brother move were minimal at best.

“Why? I’m perfectly comfortable.”

It was enough to make those sat closest to them smile a little, if they weren’t too tired to be annoyed on Murphy’s behalf. A rustling from the opposite side of the road made everyone pay attention, though when it was just Daryl that emerged from the trees the suspense left the air just as quickly as it had come. For several minutes, things were relaxed, or as much as they could be. Connor didn’t move and Murphy didn’t try to make him anymore.

 

Leaves cracking and the light clinking of metal, however, made conversations trail off, and had both brothers sitting up again. From the same spot Daryl had appeared from came four feral dogs. Their coats were ragged and filthy, and their growls menacing and half starved. Carl’s hold on Judith tightened, and like dominos, hands slowly went to weapons. Three had collars, and though he couldn’t read the tags from where he was, Murphy couldn’t help but think that these were once pets. Someone’s collie was now making small, cautious steps towards them, probably weighing the risk of going for Daryl’s throat. Someone else’s Doberman was bearing its teeth at Connor. And one by one, the four animals were put down by four single shots to the head. Sasha didn’t lower her rifle until Noah got to his feet and put a hand on her arm.

 

 

“It’s not bad.”

Connor just raised a glancing brow at his brother, too concerned with his own food to think about how it tasted or what Murphy thought of it. Too focused on getting it down his throat before he psyched himself out over what it was he was eating.

 

 

Having something to eat helped considerably. The water situation was still bad, but a look skyward towards the clouds told them that rain was bound to happen sooner or later. At least, that was what the more hopeful members of the group told themselves. Murphy wanted to believe that, but he knew that their luck would mean the weather would stay dry. This time, it was Connor offering water to him, keeping the flask held out until Murphy took it. But Murphy wasn’t the one to drink from it – instead, he looked back at Gabriel, and a moment later was walking with him. At first, the priest said nothing, but hesitantly took the water offered to him.

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

Gabriel glanced at the back of Connor’s head and then at the floor before he said anything, as if the act of drinking the water meant for his brother would cause his imminent demise.

“…Honestly, I’ve been better.” He handed the flask back to Murphy. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

A short breeze filled the quiet between them, lifting some of the hair of Murphy’s fringe off of his forehead for a blissful few seconds before he pushed it back with his hand.

“You want to talk about what I told everyone.”

It was probably meant to be a statement, but the wavering in Gabriel’s tone forced it out like an uncertain question. As if he was concerned that Murphy’s opinion of him – or indeed Connors – would ultimately affect his place in the group. Murphy nodded, but didn’t look over at him right away.

“You think it’s changed how God sees you? Leavin’ all those people?”

Gabriel swallowed thickly, his brows creasing in growing worry.

“I-I don’t pretend to know how He sees me, or what He thinks of me. What I did…it wasn’t right. I knew that then, but-”

“What you did was Human. Y’got scared. We all do, and we’ve all done stupid shit.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything”

“I didn’t say it did. What’s happened to the world? All the people that’ve died? That ain’t right either. All the shit that we’ve been through, that ain’t right.” Murphy lowered his voice a little then, giving Gabriel a firm, cold look.

“God doesn’t give a fuck about us, or if we’re good or bad or whatever the fuck we do now. He’s left us to rot, an’ you hidin’ away in your church was only gonna get you killed.”

“…Perhaps that’s what I deserve.”

“Aye. Perhaps it is. Perhaps this is what humanity gets and this is it for us. The way I see it, we’re all fucked one way or another. No point in fast trackin’ it any more than we have to.”

“So…what? I-”

“So stop hidin’. The sooner you face things, the better, else this world’s gonna eat y’alive.”

Before Gabriel could say any more, both of their attentions were taken by the fact the rest of the group had stopped up ahead. Connor was looking back for his brother when he caught his eye, nodding for him to hurry up.

 

Sat in the middle of the road was water. Half a dozen small, plastic bottles and three gallon bottles, forwarded by a note; ‘From a friend’.

 

At first, all they could do was stare. Then the first idea was put forward – that it was a trap. But then, who had set it? How had they known they would come this way, unless they had been followed for the last day at least? An unsettling notion for sure, but it didn’t stop everyone – including the twins – from eyeing the fresh supplies with thirsty, desperate eyes. Rick settled quickly on the decision that it wasn’t safe to drink, but that didn’t stop Eugene from trying to anyway. Abraham was the one to literally smack the bottle from his hands.

“If this is a trap, we’re already in it. We should move on.”

“And what if it’s not? What if this was left by someone days ago, someone just wanting to help?”

“No way. You think anyone in their right mind would just give this much up for strangers? Strangers that might not even be coming down this way?”

A deep, growling rumble was the only argument they heard in return. Looking up at the sky – a sky that no one had noticed had been gradually growing darker – their upturned faces were the first the feel the patters of rain drops. It was light for about a mind before it began to really come down, the droplets heavy and hard against skin and bags and blades.

If the relief of sitting down to rest had been one thing, this was another entirely. Almost immediately, everyone began to smile. Smile at the coolness of the water, at how ridiculous their argument about water had seemed since they were now being soaked in it. Tara and Rosita lay back against the road, laughing as the rain hit their closed eyes. Connor pushed his hands through his hair and round the back of his neck, letting the water run down his nape and across his scalp and down his forehead, relishing in the fleeting feeling of being clean and of his sweat being washed away. Murphy just opened his arms and his mouth, resisting the urge to yell out in obnoxious happiness.

This was however, short lived. The rolls of thunder were louder than any of them were expecting, the sky growing more blackened and the clouds becoming more menacing with every second that passed. The rain only got heavier, and with another, much closer clap of lightening, Judith began to cry, and the novelty quickly wore off. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Murphy grabbed their shared bag as the group rapidly prepared to move on, not catching what it was Daryl shouted to Rick. But then they were moving and the water was being left behind, with he and Connor in close pursuit as they were led into the thick of the forest, finally stopping at what looked like a large old barn. In the poor light, it looked more sinister than anything else, but with the storm quickly gathering strength, the group cautiously let themselves in.


	70. Route 16

In a stroke of luck they hadn’t come across in some weeks, the barn was deserted. Nothing neither living nor dead was trapped inside, and so it was easy enough for the group to secure themselves inside and settle for the night. People found places to sleep and leave their bags, while others helped build a small fire for them to gather around. Murphy occupied himself by taking an inventory of what ammunition they had left. Connor occupied himself by watching him from a few feet away where he sat against the wall. The wind outside was howling furiously, battering the sides of the barn with pellets of rain, although the sound they made as they hit the roof was almost enough to make Connor think they were being showered in pieces of rock.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maggie lighting a lantern she’d found, no doubt to keep close by as she tried to sleep. He’d spoken to her very little since the death of her sister. Just enough to let her know he was sorry for what had happened – she’d told him not to apologise, that there was no point. It was obvious she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on, and it was obvious he didn’t know how she felt, not really. He could only sympathize, and even then, it probably couldn’t come close.

If he turned his head to the right, he’d see Carl and Judith asleep nearby, and Rick and the others warming themselves by the fire, talking quietly amongst themselves. He considered getting up to join them, but he was fairly certain that he couldn’t move now even if he wanted to, he was so tired.

“Oi.” His brother’s look told Connor he’d been zoning out, so he rubbed his palms into his eyes to try and quell the ache that clawed at them.

“Mm - What?”

“We’re nearly out. Better stick to knives until we find some more.”

Connor could only nod, letting his eyes close as he rested his head back against the wall. If Murphy said anything else after that, he didn’t hear it. He only came to about three hours later to the sounds of people rushing around and hushed, harsh whispered commands being thrown around.

Murphy had been sleeping close by when he’d begun to wake as well, turning to Connor with a tired frown, not that he had time to ask what was happening.

The storm had only worsened, and walkers were at their doors, clawing at the wood and somehow moaning loud enough to be heard over the shrieks of the wind. Daryl was already doing his best to keep the doors secured and closed, but it wasn’t until others had gone to help him that the rest had their guns and weapons drawn, aimed at the doors, ready for the first walker to break through.

 

The night after that ended in a deep, dreamless sleep. Connor remembered helping keep the doors closed, and he remembered catching a glimpse of one of the faces of the dead and world they were taking shelter from. He remembered Murphy saying something to him that he hadn’t been able to hear, and then he’d opened his eyes and it was morning. Murphy wasn’t next to him, but his stuff was. Still groggy from sleep, Connor didn’t quite click where he was at first, nearly going to check his watch to see the time. Looking around, he saw members of the group dotted around. Some were eating, others were checking their weapons, and some were missing altogether.

“Someone’s finally awake.”

Sitting up fully, he gave Carol a smirk. “Must’a slept through my alarm.”

Handing him half a tin of – what he hoped were – beans of some kind, she quirked a brow at his joke but still smiled a little all the same. “Surprised anyone managed to sleep through the storm; tore everything up pretty well last night.”

“Aye…where’s everyone else..? Outside?”

“Here and there; not sure where your brother is.”

Giving her a nod and thanking her, Connor put breakfast aside for the minute to let himself wake up fully. His back and body ached, though he could no longer tell if it was because the hard floors he’d been sleeping on, or the amount of travelling they’d done in a short space of time. Perhaps he was starting to feel his age, however old he was now. It felt like they’d been fighting and surviving for a decade or more.

 

Murphy was at the back of the barn, keeping away from everyone else. He’d never been a morning person on a good day, and judging by the circles under his eyes, he hadn’t slept again. He looked over when he heard the scuff of footsteps in the dirt, but when he saw it was Connor, he went back to looking over the damage caused by the storm. A lot of tree branches had been blown about and broken off, now laying at awkward angles around the barn. Leaning next to him, Connor amused himself by finishing the food he’d been given, allowing them both to enjoy the peace and quiet. Only when he’d finished did he say anything, abandoning the tin by his feet.

“Y’look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Get any sleep?”

“The fuck do you think.”

“You up to another day of walkin’?”

Murphy gave him a look. “Ain’t exactly got a choice now, do I?”

Connor shrugged, but didn’t say anything else. Murphy had meant to sound scathing but had just about managed hoarse and mildly sarcastic. He’d be alright in a while; checking in with him was just something Connor did, regardless of his mood.

“Dunno – could always leave you here, maybe come back for you in a month or two. I’ll send a post card from D.C if I’m feelin’ extra nice.”

He didn’t look over in time to see Murphy’s short lived smirk, but he did see the flash of irritation as he tried to push his hair out of his eyes, only to have it flop back a second later.

“Y’get your knife, I’ll give you a trim-”

“Fuck off.”

There it was; the playful tone. It was buried under layers of fatigue and hunger, but it was there. This time, when Connor nudged Murphy’s arm with his water bottle, he was insistent, and Murphy didn’t argue.

As he drank, Connor became aware of activity inside the barn – urgent voices again, though not like the night before. Giving Murphy another nudge, he nodded for them both to head back in to see what was happening.

There was a newcomer – a man in maybe his mid-thirties. He looked innocent enough, which was likely why Rick seemed so suspicious so quickly. The brother’s caught the tail end of what they assumed was an attempted introduction.

The man’s name was Aaron, and according to him, he not only had a group close by, but an entire community. He had a lot to say and was enthusiastic to say it, telling them all about this place he’d come from; ‘Alexandria’. He passed around photos of a suburban neighbourhood, beautiful white houses and porches and lawns. It was supposedly surrounded by a high wall so that no one could get in. There was plenty of food and supplies, running water and space for a lot more people. Rick and his people would be welcome there if they wanted to follow. There were people there, who had stayed there for months now and had been kept completely safe from the world. It sounded like something from a dream, and was quickly stopped mid-sentence by Rick hitting Aaron in the head, knocking him out cold.

 

“We have no way of knowing if he’s telling the truth. For all we know his people are outside right now, waiting for the right time to break those doors down.”

“He said he was the one who left the water for us – maybe he is a friend, maybe he wants to help-”

“And maybe he wants to hurt us and take what we have.”

Rick was steadfast, and having none of the alternative. The group wasn’t divided all that evenly, but for the most part, it was Michonne who spoke in defence of the stranger they’d just tied to a post. She didn’t raise her voice, but she held firm as she always did, not backing down from the sheriff’s glare that probably once made petty criminals reconsider their ‘not guilty’ plea.

“We have to at least check his story out.”

“No, we don’t.”

“He said he had vehicles on the road not far from here. I say a few of us go and see. If he’s lying, we’ll make it back here and do what we have to. If he’s not…”

She let them all finish the sentence in their own way, and all of them were rapidly being drawn in by the idea of this new safe haven. The brothers didn’t need to say a word between them to know what the other was thinking of.

“What he’s talkin’ about. It sounds like Woodbury did.”

Both Michonne and Rick looked at Murphy. The eyes of those who had been at the prison quickly followed. Murphy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking between Rick and Aaron.

“I’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t check it out, but…we thought Woodbury sounded great too. If he’s tellin’ the truth, and we end up goin-”

“…Gotta go in with our heads screwed on.” Connor finished. When their leader said nothing for a beat, Connor stole a glance around the group and at people’s faces. It may well have just been how low they’d all been brought that was making them grasp at any new hope that came by, but it didn’t look like this was a debate Rick was going to win.

“Us three” Connor gestured to Rick and Murphy, “we’ll go with Michonne an’ anyone else who wants to tag along, see if he’s the real deal. Go from there.”

“Let’s assume he’s not. Let’s say he’s got people waiting until we’re broken up, weaker. Anyone left here would be vulnerable – we would be vulnerable, and we would’ve walked right into it.”

This time Connor paused a moment, weighing up Rick’s words.

“Aye…but we’ve been in worse situations. Everyone here can look after themselves for an hour. First sign of trouble, we turn back around.”

Rick may not have liked it, but the subtle pressure of the group and the refuge that Aaron had presented them with was tempting, even to him. His better judgement told him that that was the point of any trap, to seem too good to resist. As Aaron began to come around, the plan was set into motion, and by the time he’d lifted his head and opened his eyes, five members of the group had gone.

 

Much to their dismay – and relief – within the hour, they were driving back to the barn in the vehicles Aaron had promised them. Rick took convincing, but any amity Aaron had started to build was quickly put on the line when he refused to give them full directions to Alexandria. Murphy couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Connor subtly shook his head. The guy was digging himself a hole that was quickly becoming deeper; he’d told them about the community and was only now hesitating in giving them information.

As he and Rick spoke, Connor discreetly moved further into the barn, knowing Murphy would follow. Like with everything now, he needed to know where his brother stood with the group’s decisions, what he thought they should do. The look of doubt in Murphy’s eyes already gave much of it away.

“You thinkin’ he’s full of shit?”

“Nah…I think he’s tellin’ the truth. Just can’t help thinkin’, ‘is it another Woodbury’?”

“Aye…”

“I think we should go, see what it’s like an’ all that. Best case, it’s a fuckin’ dream come true and we can all relax. I’m not interested in worst case.”

“Worst case, we all get the fuck out together, or we get out. Simple.”

 

Despite Aaron’s advice, they travelled by night, and on route 23 instead of 16. And while Rick was being thorough and cautious, when they ran into a large, unruly herd of walkers, he had to face the fact he may have just literally driven them into more trouble than they could deal with. As always, it was dealt with, but it still left the group separated and in exactly the position Rick had wanted to avoid. But through the dark of the night, a scarlet flare shot up into the sky, a beacon reuniting them with their people. By the next morning, they had gained another stranger, and were on the road once more.

The twins were sat on the floor of the RV. Or, Connor was. Murphy was slumped against his shoulder, lulled to sleep by the motions of the vehicle and by how exhausted he was. He was fried, and Connor didn’t have the heart to wake him up and tease him. He could’ve used a shoulder for himself, but he did his best to stay awake so he could stay upright for Murphy’s sake.

By the time they’d slowed to a stop at the gates of Alexandria, Connor was using Murphy’s head as a head rest, his own breathing slow and steady. This time, it was Carl who didn’t quite have the heart to wake them, so instead he let himself smile at the two men. And when he looked down at his sister, he saw she was smiling too.


	71. Alexandria

At a glance, the wall was just as Aaron described; tall, thick, and reassuringly impenetrable. Armed guards watched from their post like owls, this new group of mice exiting their vehicles one by one and approaching the gate with newfound caution.

 

The ride there hadn’t been long, but the air felt good on his neck and face as Connor climbed out of the RV after his brother. The group were slowly gathering behind Aaron and Rick before the metal gates, all looking up and around them, ears pricked for danger. It wasn’t all that surprising that the patrolmen weren’t eager to open up and let them in; it was obvious they’d been expecting Aaron alone, or perhaps with one or two others. Not a whole, well-armed group.

Eventually the gate opened with long, drawn out metallic sound and they were ushered inside. As it clanged shut and was promptly locked behind them, the twins looked from the gate to each other warily, and then towards Alexandria itself.

Two storey houses, all of similar style and size, faced each other across the main stretch of road. The close-by sound of people talking and laughing, totally at ease. There was grass and trees, not a corpse or blood spatter to be seen. Up closer now, they could see the watchmen’s clothes were clean and their grips on their guns were lax. The plague seemed to have conveniently missed this fraction of the world.

To some of the group, it already looked like paradise. To Daryl and the brothers, especially Murphy, it reeked of Woodbury, and therefore brought new feelings of distrust to the surface. He didn’t need to mention the Governor’s town out loud for Connor to understand the look on his face. Neither remembered Woodbury very fondly.

 

At the front, Rick was trying to negotiate them all keeping their weapons, while the man from the community – Nicholas – told them they couldn’t. Alexandria had a strict ‘no carrying’ policy, and so Connor’s hand naturally went to his gun to remind himself it was still there, while Murphy rolled his eyes. Either these people were dangerous and couldn’t wait to disarm them, or they were stupid and actually thought an anti-gun rule was the best thing to have in place with the world as it was. Either way, Aaron managed to talk Nicholas down, provided that they meet with a woman named Deanna.

As everyone began to make their way further into the centre of Alexandria, the twins hung back a little. Murphy eyed the houses, noting the wide porches and the large, clean windows. Comparing what they’d found here to what lay outside the walls was laughable; how long had the people here been away from the brutality, the death? How long had it been since they’d seen a walker tear someone’s throat out, or had to put a knife through a human skull? Or had they had to at all? That sent a spark of petty jealously through him, but it only lasted a moment. He wouldn’t wish what they’d been through on anyone else.

 

“Wonder which one we get” Connor said jokingly, casting grey-green eyes to the houses on the opposite side. Of course the idea that they would get one of their own was somewhat ridiculous – they didn’t even know if they’d be staying in Alexandria long. There would always be the hope that _this_ would be the place. This would finally be the safe haven they could settle in, a place where they could afford to put their guns away and take off their shoes and just exist. Live without having to survive. But after Woodbury, the boys had learned fast to keep their expectations low. Hope could be more emotionally damaging than any number of hungry nights on the road.

They eventually found themselves filing into one of the houses near the outskirts of the community (which was much larger than any of them had first thought) to meet with the woman they only knew as Deanna. She was the appointed –self or otherwise – leader of this place; an older woman with a kind face and bright, intelligent eyes. Though she wasn’t all that tall, her voice carried an authority that made everyone listen, without being overly firm. She greeted them all as a group, and after a word with Rick, made her request. She hoped that they would make the choice to stay among them, but of course, certain steps had to be taken first. She wished to interview them each individually, to get a sense of where they’d been and how they could contribute to Alexandria and hopefully help it to grow. It was an odd request, but after a little hushed discussion, they all consented, and were happy enough to be shown where they would each be living while the first few interviews were conducted. Rick, Daryl and Michonne were the first three to volunteer.

Another step, however, was the insistence that they all surrender their guns to the well-tended armoury. This was consented to with less enthusiasm, but Deanna assured them that they could sign their weapons out at any time to go shooting or for protection on supply runs, if they stayed that long. Connor and Murphy gave up their guns, but Murphy’s knife stayed securely strapped to his side, concealed beneath his clothes. The fact none of them were patted down to check for such things in a way told Rick and the others more than Deanna realised. These were not survivors from the world they’d just come from. These were American citizens who didn’t want the children here to see guns and people willing to use them. People who were concerned with keeping inventories and sign-out books and garden ornaments. They were intent on keeping a flicker of the apple pie life alive in the hope that the light it provided would help them ignore the darkness that was consuming the world beyond their walls.

 

A young woman with brown hair was the one who led the twins from the armoury back outside and down the street, finally stopping in front of a house bang slap in the middle of this particular row. Connor and Murphy glanced at each other. Connor had been kidding when he’d asked which house would be theirs, so the fact that they did have their own was something of a surprise. It made a little more sense when they were told they'd be sharing it with other members of their group, though they didn't know who yet.

Once inside, the woman gave the pair a smile, watching them as they looked around at their new surroundings in poorly-masked awe.

“Someone will be around sometime later when Deanna wants to see you, buuut until then, make yourselves at home. There should be a box in the kitchen with a few bits and pieces to help you settle in, but if you need anything, come by number 15. One of us is usually around.”

 

“Thanks for that – s’appreciated. Sorry, love – what’s your name?”

Turning back to Connor as she reached for the door knob, she smiled again.

“Kym.”

“Good t’meet you.”

 

He introduced both Murphy and himself, and after a couple more pleasantries, she excused herself and left them to it.

A couple more furtive glances around told them that if this was the real deal, they may well have hit a goldmine in terms of creature comforts. If they weren’t jolted awake and this didn’t all melt away in the next few seconds, this wasn’t a fantasy. Room by room, they took it in turns to swear under their breath or whistle in approval. The furnishings were all a little suburban for their tastes – not that they really had much in the way of opinions on interior decorating anyway – but they had them. 

In the kitchen, Murphy rummaged through the aforementioned box, while Connor idly turned the taps on at the sink, flinching in surprise and splashing himself when water actually jettisoned out of the faucets.

“I’ll be damned…”

Clean, running water. There was no way this wasn’t a dream.

“Oi – Merry Christmas.”

Connor turned, and caught a tube of travel sized mint toothpaste. They matched grins as he joined Murphy in his rummaging.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas indeed, Murph’…ah, there y’go.”

He flicked a razor up into Murphy’s face. “Y’can finally get rid’a that bum fluff you’re tryin’ to call a beard”

Ordinarily Murphy would have rebuked the teasing insult with one of his own, but he was too enamoured with the fact they could shower to really care. When he discovered that the hot water worked, he could have died happy then and there.

Having soap in his hair and on his skin felt like he was finally able to reach an itch that had been bothering him for months. The water pooling at his feet and running towards the drain gradually went from murky to clear as the grime and blood and sweat from weeks on the road washed away with the suds. Fingers ran over old and newer scars, tattooed skin marked with bruises and scrapes. He breathed in deeply, letting the steam into his system and turning the water up hotter and hotter until it became almost uncomfortable. He wanted the aches of travel to leave him. He wanted to go into what was now his room and sleep for three days and wake up free of the shit they’d had to carry with them. Wanted to stop being careful, wanted Connor to stop worrying, to have him be able to laugh and have it be easy and not forced.

 

If it hadn’t been for his brother unceremoniously letting himself into the room and kicking him out of the shower before the hot water gave out, Murphy could have stood there for hours.

While Connor took his turn, Murphy towelled off, and wiped the mirror clean of steam. His skin was flushed with the heat of the water, but for the first time in an age, he was clean. He picked up the razor that’d been given to him so graciously to get to work on his face. He didn’t mind having facial hair all that much, but once it was off, he almost wondered how he dealt with it in the first place; how they put up with it when they’d left Boston to live back in Ireland.

 

 

“So, Connor. Tell me a little about yourself.”

It was the next morning, and the twins had received their summons to meet Deanna back at her home for their interviews. They were seen one at a time, and unexpectedly, they were being recorded, though Connor had little reason to care. He sat opposite the camera and its owner; showered, recently fed, in a clean T-shirt he’d found in one of the drawers in his room. He looked like the person he was before they’d set foot inside the Hoag, save for the subtle heaviness his eyes carried now, and the slight deepening of the faint lines in his face. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, relaxed and open.

“What d’you wanna know?”

“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”

“Me and me brother were born in Ireland, came to the US in our twenties…”

“If you don’t mind,” Deanna interjected, though the tone of her voice didn’t make it seem like an interruption at all. “I’d like to keep your brother out of it, just for a moment. I’d like to know about _you._ What did you do before? What did you enjoy doing?”

Connor had to smile then.

“Me an’ Murph’ are sort’ve a package deal – it’s not gonna be much of an interview if I can’t mention him.”

“You misunderstand.” She replied pleasantly, “Mention him, by all means. But what I’m trying to do here is get to know everyone in your group individually. See what sort of a mix of people you have, and what your roles could be here if you chose to stay with us.”

After a pause, he nodded, and began again. He told her about the few jobs they’d kept back home, about their mother and a little about their upbringing. He told her about the meat packing factory and about anything else insubstantial he could think of that wasn’t ‘we went around executing bad people on God’s request.’

But he couldn’t avoid it long. Deanna wanted to know where he’d been when everything changed. How he’d gotten this far. He told her in the way he guessed she wanted to hear, but without lying either. She didn’t need to hear about all the shit he’d seen, but something about her pushed total dishonesty off of the table.

“And what about Rick? What do you think of him?”

Connor thought a moment, scratching at a patch of shorter hair on the back of his neck.

“He’s a decent man. Loyal…willin’ to make hard choices, to take risks for the group.”

She nodded, and shifted slightly in her seat.

“I get the sense that a few of your people don’t want to be here. They’re almost suspicious of what we have here.”

“After you’ve been through what we have, y’don’t wanna believe somethin’ like this has just been here all along.” Connor said carefully, eye contact with the camera lens suddenly more difficult. Instead, he unconsciously took on one of Murphy’s traits; he began to pick at the skin surrounding his thumb nail. Deanna was patient, allowed him to take his time.

“There was a place before…somethin’ just like this, called Woodbury. Run by a man who called himself the Governor. It was everythin’ this place is; loads’a space, nice houses, fresh water, food. And one day, it all went to shi-…it fell. People died. And it was like we were knocked right back to square one. After you’ve had that, even for a little bit, goin’ back to survivin’ day to day, it takes a lot outta you. What you’ve got here, what you’ve built, it’s great.”

Connor glanced from the camera to Deanna. “We’re just wonderin’ how long’s on the clock before we have to start runnin’ again.”

“We’ve been here…well, since pretty much the beginning. And we’ve only gotten stronger since. We’ve let more people in, the walls are well built, the food supply has lasted us. I know that with the right people living with us, we can only go up from here. We can only become stronger.”

When he didn’t say anything straight away, Deanna decided on a different approach – his, namely – to try and get him to open up a little more before she concluded.

“You and your brother, you’re close?”

“Aye.”

“And do you think Murphy wants to be here? I get the feeling, despite your reservations, you’d like to stay.”

“I can guess, but I can’t talk for him.” Connor shrugged, and offered a small smile to assure her he wasn’t fobbing off her question. “Murph’ can be a pain in the ass, but he’s a good man.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

 

Murphy’s interview did not go so smoothly. The camera put him on edge slightly, as did the whole scenario. Even the police had interviewed the two of them together back in the day, so it felt strange being one on one with a woman who, just her own word, ‘wanted to get to know him’. He didn’t know what to tell her; she’d already spoken to Connor, surely he’d given her everything she needed? Their lives were so tightly intertwined, there really wasn’t much he could mention that didn’t involve Connor.

Deanna watched as he fidgeted. He was uncomfortable, unable to stay sat down for more than a few minutes, absently scratching the skin at his nail beds when he was at camera level. His answers mostly came in shrugs or short, closed phrases. He couldn’t quite place why he was so tense – he just knew he wanted to get out of the room as quickly as possible and enjoy being outside and safe for once.

‘Safe’. Like that really meant anything nowadays.

“How long have you been with Rick and his group?”

Another shrug. “A few months, maybe? Haven’t been keepin’ track.”

“Do you like them?”

“Aye, they’re alright. For the most part.”

“And what about Alexandria?”

“…What about it?”

“Well…do you like it here? You know you and your brother are welcome to stay. Your whole group is.”

This time, she got a less abrasive response as Murphy briefly looked out the window at the people gathering on someone’s front porch. One woman had a plate of food in hand. They were smiling, laughing; not a care in the world.

“The house is nice…still waitin’ for someone to come and tell us we can’t keep it.” Leaning against the sill, Murphy turned his head to look at Deanna properly.

“I wanna believe we can live here. I know Connor does.”

“But you don’t think you can?”

“We know better than to get our hopes up. Luck runs out. Eventually things blow up and you have to move on, get on with it. Not much choice these days.”

“I was telling Connor how long we’ve kept this place running. We have a good number of people now. A medical building, a working sewage filtration system, solar power-”

Murphy laughed then – more of an accidental scoff, but amused none the less. Deanna simply waited.

“Sorry, s’just…when the walker’s get in here, they’re not gonna care how eco-friendly y’house is. Solar panels don’t mean shit to somethin’ that wants to tear your throat out.”

Deanna sat up a little straighter. “You say ‘when’ like it’s a certainty.”

“Those things out there are a certainty.” Murphy replied grimly.  “It ain’t a matter of ‘if’ they get in, never has been. All it takes is one, and this place falls like a house of cards.”

When Deanna said nothing immediately afterwards, Murphy pushed himself up from the sill, and went to leave the room, pausing only once at the door when she did speak up.

“That house is yours, Murphy. Yours and Connor’s, if you want it. There’s a place for both of you here.”

After a beat, she got a reply, quieter than before.

 “…Thanks for lettin’ us in.”

 


	72. Recharged

The first night of their arrival, neither of the twins had slept much. Connor managed to doze for a couple of hours here and there, but Murphy found himself too on edge to try. They had left it up to the others in the group to decide who would be sharing their house with them, and had ended up with Sasha, Maggie and Glenn, Tara, and Gabriel. The house had three bedrooms – one master and two smaller ones. Murphy had jokingly claimed one room for himself when they’d first gotten there, until Connor had clouted him round the ear with a grin and a half-hearted ‘fuck off’.

After their interviews, the next day was mostly spent exploring the town. Unlike Woodbury, this place had a more peaceful tone to it. Perhaps because it was smaller, perhaps because this was the real deal. Either way, they made their way slowly around the outskirts, checking out the wall for any weak spots that might have been missed. To its architect’s credit, it was very well built. But that did nothing to muffle the moans of the dead on the other side. Clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, Connor kept them moving.

As the evening grew closer, the boys were drawn to the house Rick had been given. The rest of the group were busy bringing in blankets and pillows to set up in the front room when they arrived. The place was welcoming and warm, the previously unlived-In house already feeling like a home. Everyone looked cleaner and already better fed, and therefore happier. Rick had gotten rid of the impressive beard that he’d grown, and in turn shaved a few years off of his face.

Catching Carl’s attention as he passed by, Murphy asked what they were doing. He shrugged, arms full of cushions.

“My Dad figured we shouldn’t be separated, at least not right now. Carol was about to go find you guys”

“I can see the sense in that…can’t say I’m eager to give up the bed though.” Said Murphy once the kid had carried on with what he was doing. Connor had to agree, despite himself. Their house was only two down from this one, and the idea of them having a little space to themselves was a little too good to give up right away.

After a discussion without a whole lot of words, they told Rick they’d be staying where they were, though before they could really argue the point, Deanna appeared behind them from the hallway. She managed to clock what was happening in half the time it’d taken the twins.

“Sticking together…smart move.” She was speaking to the whole group, and seemed impervious to the slightly nervous energy that had settled in the last few seconds. As it turned out, she was preparing something of a welcome party for them at her house, and had come to let them know. The idea was a thoughtful one, but not everyone seemed sold on it. Murphy’s own uneasiness wasn’t lessened by Connor’s agreement that they’d be there. Once Deanna had left, he leaned close and lowered his voice as they watched the group continue making the room fit for sleeping.

“We’ll go in with the others. If it looks dodgy, we slip out, grab our guns.”

“Way ahead’a you.” Nodding his head behind them, Murphy gave a half smirk. “Come on.”

 

 

As it turned out, getting their guns was harder than expected. The armoury was locked tight, and breaking a window to get inside would only draw attention. So, they decided to wait. Murphy had his knife and Connor could improvise. If they needed to fight, they’d done so in the past with less.

Their fears of walking straight into a trap turned out to be completely unfounded. They’d arrived at the welcome party a little after the other members of their group, and when they’d not heard evidence of a fight or ambush, they figured it was a gathering and nothing more.

There were more inhabitants of the town than either of them had first thought. At first, no one really noticed them as they slipped into the house. One or two members of their group acknowledged that they’d arrived, but it was eventually Connor who decided to mingle, leaving Murphy in his spot by the wall. There was food – more than he’d seen in a long time – so for a little while that occupied him. But Murphy, while quite social when he wanted to be, was feeling less and less in the party mood as it went on. All of the people here were so relaxed, so unaware of what was going on just on the other side of the wall. Could any of them fire a gun if they needed to? He doubted it. Were they prepared for the possibility of Alexandria being found by people far less concerned with recipes and gossip? And were Rick’s people equipped to be around others that were at the opposite end of the spectrum? It’d been so long since any of them had felt safe walking around unarmed, it made him wonder how they’d manage it again.

A mere hour had passed, and Murphy was at his limit. More people had crowded into the space and the noise level has risen, talking and laughing suddenly uncomfortably loud, if only just to him. When Connor next looked for him, he wouldn’t find him. Not until he returned to their room a while later. Murphy was in bed, back turned to the door and still fully dressed, apart from his shoes, and his rosary that now hung from the bed post.

“Murph? You awake?”

He got no reply at first. He didn’t know that Murphy wasn’t sleeping, and didn’t think to try again.

“What’d you find out?”

When he next turned to the bed, Murphy was half-turned to face him. In the semi-darkness, the whites of his eyes disappeared, black holes bleeding into the shadows of his nose and face. Connor took off his outer shirt, then his rosary, hanging it over Murphy’s. Shrugging, he sat down in the armchair and bent to unlace his boots.

“That we’ve got jack shit to worry about. These people? No fuckin’ clue.”

“We’re good then?”

“Here? Aye. It’s like they’ve got no idea what happened to the world. Or they’re just really good at pretendin’. Either way, tomorrow we’re gettin’ our guns back one way or another.”

Murphy propped himself up on his elbows. “You wanna leave?”

“No.” Connor sat back, letting himself sink into the thick blue material. He was tired; it weighed on his words like molten lead. “But I know I don’t wanna be defenceless if walkers get in and I’m at a fuckin’ picnic with John and Jane Doe.” After a beat, he rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye, not bothering to stifle a yawn with the other hand. “Don’t get me wrong…they’re not bad people. They’re just…I don’t know. Naïve. Unprepared…”

“Aye…guns tomorrow then.”

“Aye. Sorry for wakin’ you, just now.”

“I wasn’t sleepin’. Can’t.”

“Wanna talk a while?”

“You look like shit, Conn’. How you’re still conscious is fuckin’ beyond me.”

“Aren’t most things?” Connor managed a smile, and Murphy somehow felt a little better. “m’fine. Let’s talk. Whoever falls asleep first is the loser, how about that?”

 

 

It was around 2am. Connor was fast asleep. He’d still been sat in the thick, quilted armchair in their room when he’d drifted off. Murphy was expecting him to wake again at some point and try to shove him out of bed, but the hours passed by and he remained fast asleep. The other MacManus wasn’t so lucky. So while he slept Murphy had quietly ventured downstairs and out onto the front porch. It was smaller than some of the other houses, but it came with a wooden swinging bench that seemed appropriate for getting lost in thought. He took a seat and pulled the blanket he’d pulled from the bed around himself to keep out the breeze, letting one foot lazily rock the bench back and forth. No one else was awake save for the unlucky sod that’d caught the graveyard shift on the wall.

For a minute, he just let himself breathe. Now that they’d rested some, the aches in his body had dulled, although the pressure behind his eyes had yet to let up. By now he’d just accepted feeling tired as part of his personality. The quiet of the night was a soothing change to the pace of life they’d kept up over the last few weeks; now he was alone, without truly being by himself, he had the chance to actually stop and look at the stars, really let his body ease into something close to relaxation.

They’d gone from being starving and dehydrated on the road, travelling at a snail’s pace without a destination in sight, to this; green lawns and clean clothes and beds. Hot water, actual meals, security, a roof over their heads. It was whiplash, and after Woodbury, Murphy wasn’t prepared to just settle right in and let his guard down again. These people could have been anyone, they could have been dangerous, and their group was weak. The last thing they should be doing is just buying into this place. The interviews they’d been subjected to that morning hadn’t helped.

And yet despite all of his reservations, Murphy was tired in every sense of the word. He was sick of sleeping on floors or not sleeping at all, of being hungry and sore and being in danger constantly. Most of all, he was tired of Connor feeling like he had to keep giving. It was in his nature, it was how they’d always worked; the problem was, the more dire the situation was, the more his twin felt he needed to sacrifice to keep Murphy happy and safe. If it was cold, he’d would wake up with an extra jacket over him. His rations would be slightly larger if Connor was sure he wouldn’t notice. Always such small things, but nowadays they added up. After everything they’d gone through, if anyone deserved a place like this, it was Connor. Whether he agreed or not was another matter entirely.

He woke up to the sounds of Alexandria starting another day. It was still early, about 6:30am, but there were people walking down the street and ‘good mornings’ being exchanged between neighbours. Murphy’s neck was stiff and his feet were cold, but by some miracle he hadn’t fallen off the bench in the night. With a creak and a groan, Murphy was on his feet and padding back into the house, rubbing the palm of his hand through his hair.

Connor was still in the arm chair when Murphy peeked his head into his room. He was deep in sleep, his chest gently rising and falling in soft repetition. At a glance, you’d think he couldn’t have been all that comfortable. But a soft, padded armchair is more forgiving than a concrete floor, and Connor had been exhausted. Making as little noise as he could, Murphy entered the room, removed the blanket from around himself, and covered Connor with it. He left just as quietly a few moments later, remembering that a shower was suddenly an option once more.

 

 

By the third day, both of their moods were higher than they had been in a long time. Murphy still didn’t entirely trust this place, but the knife he kept on him helped combat his suspicions to an extent. Connor remained impassive; he wasn’t as guarded as his brother, but he hadn’t leapt into bed with the reality of the community just yet. While the security it provided worked wonders in its favour, the fact that no one seemed bothered by the threat the world now poised was troubling. It was smart to be afraid. Fear fed the impulse to want to protect yourself and those around you. For the time being, the rest of the group were trying to enjoy the little luxuries while they could. Rick continued to meet with Deanna, and soon he and Michonne were appointed Alexandria’s sheriffs. Other members of the group were given odd jobs here and there; Sasha was given a post on the wall on patrol, and after another couple of days, so was Connor. Murphy was elected to help on the team that had been put together to help strengthen the wall, rebuilding any parts that were weaker. He didn’t particularly like the idea at first, but despite his reservations there was a definite sense of growing debt that they both felt needed repaying. Whether they stayed out the month or not, contributing helped with the boredom, and equally allowed them to get to know the residents.

 

About a week had gone by at its own slow pace, the days feeling longer and the nights – now that they’d settled enough to actually sleep properly – blissfully felt much shorter. For the last few nights, Murphy had been the first to hit the sack, regardless of whether or not it was his turn in the bed. He got it for more than a couple of nights in a row; Connor never had the heart to wake him. Both felt better for the rest and the regular meals, and when the subject of helping on a supply run came up, the brothers were almost eager to volunteer. It’d give them something to do, another chance to be useful.

Spencer was one of Deanna’s sons, and the one to put the group together; himself, his brother Aiden, Nicholas, Michonne, and Tara completing it. This was only supposed to be a short run, just to try and find anything useful, and perhaps to see how capable Rick’s group really were. Bundling into the back of a van, the sudden blaring of dubstep music made more than just the brothers flinch in surprise. With a glance cast to the rear view mirror, Spencer smirked, and yelled towards the back of the vehicle as he left the community.

“Sorry about that – draw’s the dead away from here, from the gates.”

The occasional wafts of fresh air told Murphy that the windows were down. No doubt to help the noise escape to do its job. The music was way too loud, obnoxiously so – getting out once they’d reached their destination was something of a blessing.

Rubbing his ear with the palm of his hand, Connor shot Murphy a look and saw he was doing something similar. The others didn’t seem bothered, instead checking over their weapons as they clambered out of the enclosed darkness of the vehicle. The place they’d pulled up at was old and run down, helped partially by the debris and litter scattered around their feet. The doors were chained shut and the windows boarded; something of a rarity, but there was a chance this place hadn’t been raided yet. It was that potential that had the group heading around the side wall, footfalls careful and hands steady.


End file.
